


But Then Again

by silver9mm



Series: Built Another World [3]
Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Ending, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood, Chastity Device, DID-Integration, Domestic Violence, Double Penetration, Dubious Consent, Dubious Consent Due To Identity Issues, Fisting, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Jealousy, Light BDSM, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Mpreg, Non-Consensual Body Modification, Polyamory, Pregnancy Kink, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-24
Updated: 2017-05-13
Packaged: 2018-06-06 05:49:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 82,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6741055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silver9mm/pseuds/silver9mm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jared was seeing them. Was staring Sam down with murderous intention and Sam was fucking done. He was sick of this push and pull and possessiveness and reticence. It was confusing, okay, yeah, fine. This was all fucked up, and none of them could have everything they wanted, but what the fuck, there was no reason for this jealousy. Jared hadn’t told Jensen to stay away from Sam as far as he knew, hadn’t said a fucking thing directly to Sam at all since he’d joined them, so why the challenge now? Why the dirty looks from Dean and Jared both? If they fucking wanted something from him and Jensen, they could use their big boy words and ask, or talk about boundaries or what the fuck ever.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Theboys](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Theboys/gifts), [weonlycameheretowatch (monsterdoughnut)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/monsterdoughnut/gifts).



> This is an alternate ending for the last four chapters of [Becoming Less Defined](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2141112),
> 
> SPOILERS IN THE END NOTES FOR OTHER PARTS OF THIS VERSE
> 
> Title from Only by Nine Inch Nails
> 
> [Soundtrack on 8tracks!](http://8tracks.com/silver9mm/but-then-again) and on [youtube!](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLuB2rGbcqG9mXJWXLIYRBE64-jLPQmuXc)

_Jared,_

_I’m not who you think I am. Not what you think I am. This has all been horrible and strange and sometimes not so bad. Doing the best we can, both of us. Nobody is perfect. I have to do something that might really screw things up, but you’re tough. You can deal with it. I don’t know if I’ll be around after. If I am, don’t come find me. You don’t have to and I don’t want you to, you don’t owe me anything. Not going to explain myself any more because I know you can’t understand. And that’s okay. Just want to say that I’m sorry. I know you won’t believe me, but maybe someday you will know the truth._

_I want you to know that your Jensen is safe if he’s with my brother._

_—Dean_

Jared’s hand shook as he read the note again. It looked like Jensen’s had been shaking when he’d written it. He closed his eyes, opened them. The words were still there, proof he was losing his omega again. No matter what, taking Jensen off medication always resulted in some drastic flux, some eventual dramatic outburst.

He’d had so much hope this time, though.

He crushed the paper in his fist, closed his eyes once more. Hard. Until it hurt. Wanted to throw the paper away from him, but if he let go of even that little weight, the coffee table would be next. Chairs. Holes in the walls. He didn’t have time for that, and he couldn’t lose control when he was the only one who had any at all.

 _Fuck._ Jensen had been doing so well! Again…

He’d lost the Dean personality some months ago, this cynical amnesiac who had been the strangest of the bunch so far. So like Jensen in some ways—funny, clever, charming. Yet so different—hostile, reticent, impatient. And lasting. None of the other multiples Jensen manifested stayed longer than a few days, at the most. Usually it was a walk-through, in and out, sometimes before Jared was even sure it was happening. Except that Jensen would hit the floor, the symptom of his brain being overstimulated.

Weeks of Dean had worn Jared out. At times, he’d even thought his Jensen was never coming back. That was the most frightening thing of all. Jared could deal with the others, those entities that came and went and baffled him. He could even deal with the regular crazy stuff. The anxiety that kept Jensen almost a prisoner in this house. The paranoia, rules about touching and sounds. Those things didn’t matter, because it was their world and their agreed-upon boundaries and it made for an impenetrable wall that no one else could ever scale, intrude upon. Those things made Jensen _his_ , helped Jared feel secure that Jensen belonged with and to him, because no one but Jared could navigate the minefield Jensen lived in.

But not having Jensen at all, ever again..? That thought had kept Jared up at night, lying next to his sleeping omega—his drugged, medicated, sedated omega—his heart and his head hurting so badly he wanted to scream. To beg. There was no one to hear him, though. No one understood except Alastair, and wasn’t that just icing on the cake. Jared had been warned so many times this could happen. That he’d lose Jensen to psychosis eventually, one way or another. Jared had fought that diagnosis, sometimes alone, sometimes with Jensen. Sometimes he’d fought Jensen when that end seemed inevitable.

Alastair was always there somehow. Always ready and willing to work with them. New treatments. Old treatments. Medication. For one or both of them. He’d told Jared a thousand times if he’d told him once that Jensen would always need it, always need to have his chemistry tweaked, his brain balanced.

And Jared realised, standing there in the darkness of his own head, fist clenched around _Dean’s_ note, that Alastair was right. After almost seven years of struggling against Alastair’s prognosis, Jared finally gave up. When he found Jensen, wherever he’d scurried off to with this vague mission statement, Jared was going to take him to the clinic and leave him there. For a while at least. Alastair would know what to do, how to get Jensen back. For a while at least. It would be enough for Jared.

He opened his fist first, let the paper drop to the floor. Then his eyes, and he saw a ring on the corner of the coffee table. He frowned. It wasn’t his. He didn’t even own a ring, did he? No. Jensen wore one occasionally, had a small collection of them in a dish in the bathroom cabinet. This wasn’t one of those. It was silver, for one thing. Jensen always chose gold. Like his eyes.

Jared missed those eyes. The hormonal imbalance that had precipitated this Dean personality’s arrival had ruined everything. Jensen’s hard-won mental stability, his health, his beauty. When Dean was wearing Jensen, he looked tired. Wounded. Wary and weary and lost, and the washed-out green of his eyes made Jared feel like he was looking at a corpse. And he knew what that was like, firsthand. The black flecks in his eyes were unnerving; as if Jensen had turned inside out somehow, that this Dean and what he’d done to Jensen was showing Jared the dark side of him, a negative image.

Maybe the ring was Charlie’s? Jared thought he sensed her when he came in, but there was something else in the air, and even though it wasn’t the sweet balm he was used to, the way it made his stomach hot and his balls tight was familiar. Jensen was coming into heat. And he was out there somewhere, alone, out of his mind.

“Fuck, Jen. _Fuck._ ”

Maybe the ring was a clue? Too big to be Charlie’s, now that Jared was looking closely. He plucked it from the table.

Or tried to. It burned him. There was no mark on his fingertips when he inspected them. Cautiously, he poked the ring with one finger. Not hot, but cold. Very, very cold.

 _Cold as Alastair_ , his unhelpful subconscious offered. _Wait…_ Could Jensen have gone to Alastair? That was a long way on foot. Maybe Charlie had been here, after all? Had Jensen conned her into taking him to the only other Alpha he was familiar with? That was a horrible thought. But better the trouble you know than one you don’t.

The ring was in Jared’s hand. Still cold, almost buzzing in his palm. It was important somehow, he was sure of it. Maybe it was _Dean’s_? Some kind of message to Jared. A Union ring? They’d talked about it once, a long time ago; a legal binding, not just a biological one. But it had inflamed Jared’s guilt, brought back memories of Jimmy asking him for the same thing, and he had shut down the omega’s innocent query. It didn’t have to be that way now. Jensen knew about Jared’s failure, about his fear and Jimmy’s death, and maybe the ring had something to do with that. Maybe it was one last fearful derangement of reality on Jensen’s part, that Jared should marry him. Dean. All of them.

Fine. If that’s what it would take for Jensen to know how much Jared loved him, he would do it. Even if it wasn’t the case, he would do it. _And with this ring—_

Jared took a deep breath, pulled his phone from his pocket and was just sliding it unlocked when it rang. Unconsciously stuffing the ring in his pants pocket, he answered. “Jen?”

Silence, and Jared had Jensen’s name on his tongue again when he heard a little sniffle in his ear. He held his breath. After a few seconds, a wavering voice spoke.

“No…it’s Charlie.”

“Charlie, is Jensen with you?” _Please say yes._

“…No…”

Jared shut his eyes, found a thread of patience in his last frayed nerve. “Have you seen him? He’s not here!”

Another long pause. He heard her clear her throat, imagined her as he’d often seen her in the past. Looking down, chewing her bottom lip, her heavy red hair shaken just so, falling around her face as she hid behind the curtain of it. Her voice was weak, forced him to listen carefully when she finally spoke. “Yeah. I know… Jared—”

“You know?” He opened his eyes. The first thing he saw was the discarded note. He frowned at it, felt that thread snap. “Charlie, where is he?”

There was no answer, not even a slow one, and several seconds passed as his irritation increased until he finally registered the timid knocking at his front door.

Charlie was on the other side of it. She squeaked when Jared grabbed her arm and she started babbling, silver-gilt eyes heavy with tears, dark holes in her pale face.

Jared stopped listening a few minutes into her explanation of where Jensen had gone, why he was there, and who he thought he was. He _heard_ her, he just wasn’t able to process it all. He didn’t want to. He did not want to fucking know about the first time Jensen told Charlie he was _really, actually Dean_. Especially since it was the morning after Jared had hurt Jensen. Broken his wrist. And it was nothing new that Jensen was paranoid about the medicine Alastair prescribed him, but it was a twist that Jensen and Charlie both thought Alastair had also poisoned _Jared_ this time around. He especially didn’t care to hear about some random, probably made-up Alpha in a coma somewhere whose shoes Jensen had stolen for Charlie and how they were both convinced that poor woman was Charlie’s _real_ Alpha.

He heard it all, though, as hard as he tried not to. When Charlie told him what she had done to help facilitate Jensen’s most recent plan to put an end to Alastair’s influence over all their lives.

That brought his focus back.

There wasn’t much to it; she’d picked him up here, driven him to the clinic, and somewhere along the way ‘Dean’ had intimated he was going to kill Alastair. He hadn’t given her many details, but it was clear what she’d surmised had frightened her to her core.

When she was done talking, Jared still had her by the arm, but now his mouth was open, jaw dropped in shock, and she was pressing a 9mm pistol into his other hand.

“I’m so sorry, Jared. I am,” Charlie whispered.

She definitely _looked_ sorry. Tear tracks and pink splotches marred her cheeks. She was shaking under his fingers and when Jared flicked his gaze down, he saw she was standing on her toes, trying to keep herself from hanging from his hand. He didn’t let her go.

Charlie gulped and stammered on. “This is a lot my fault. I was mad at Alastair and then more mad and then hysterical, and then I plotted, but J— _Dean_ had this _other_ idea, but I didn’t _know_ until we _got there_ , to, to the clinic, and _I don’t know_ , Jared. I mean, I _do know_. That I believe him. Maybe they’ll have to medicate both of us or something, I don’t—I have to stop saying that.” She paused, squared her shoulders as well as she could with him holding her like she was an unruly child. “I believe him. Enough that I think he’s in really big trouble and he really, really needs you. You have to help him.”

Jared looked at the gun in his hand. Pistols had always been his favourite, and this piece required almost no skill. His father had made sure he knew how to use one, but it had been a long time.

“Just take it, Jared,” Charlie pleaded, flapping her free hand at the gun as if she could wave it away. When he only looked back at her, she huffed at him, “Just _go_ , will you?” Then her eyes went wide, afraid. “I’m sorry! I don’t mean to tell you what to do, but Alastair is gonna be _really_ upset about all this and I-I-I just want you and, and Dean…Jensen… _whoever_ , to be safe. Please go and get him. He’ll listen to you if you listen to him. That’s all he wants.”

Jared could hear Alastair’s voice in his head. _In a way, schizophrenia is contagious_. _Persistent delusions can make even a sane person doubt reality._

“Charlie,” he growled, and his body gloried at being used as his genetics had designed it, “go home. If anything happens to Jen… You need to stay away from him from now on. If you want to leave your Alpha, that’s your problem. Leave Jensen alone. I’m going to go get my omega and I’m going to tell Alastair everything, so you better figure out how to prepare for that. I’m going to give him back his gun, and I’m going to fucking apologise for the situation. Now go.”

He hadn’t meant to terrify her any more, but he’d had enough, and she cried out when he lifted her by her arm and shook her. He didn’t shove her. He wanted to. Wanted to slam her against the wall and make her take it all back because it was getting to him. Somehow it was beginning to be easier to think Jensen wasn’t who he used to be, that he was someone else from somewhere else and they’d all been doped into oblivion.

But that was _stupid._ Easy cop out, maybe. Maybe for them, the weaker sex, the worriers and weepers.

But Charlie wasn’t crazy. Really, there had been nothing wrong with her except the box she didn’t fit into. Even Dean had pointed out how weird it was that she had become Alastair’s omega all of sudden.

Dean.

“ _Fuck_!”

There was a thump and Jared thought for a moment that he had thrown Charlie, but it was her own doing. Crashing against the door, fumbling, nodding at him.

“Okay, Jared. Okay. Alpha. I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I’ll go,” she babbled as she slip-grabbed the knob and squeezed through, not once turning her back to or her face away from him.

Jared shut his eyes once more, sought the calming blackness to orient himself within this mess Charlie had just dumped all around him.

One thing at a time. He had to find his omega, and Charlie had given him a direction to go in. Start there.

He had to find his omega _now_. No matter how upset he was, how perturbed by what Charlie had just told him, there was one thing that was totally undisturbed by any and all of this. Jensen— _Jensen_ was in heat and needed Jared to be with him.

The gun went into his pocket, just enough weapon that his slacks tightened over his crotch, over the lazy hardness throbbing there.

He was out the door seconds later. Charlie was nowhere to be seen. She’d probably run to her car. He was already wishing he’d done it differently, but he had no time to make amends. The gun clicked against the ring as he shifted himself once before dropping into the driver’s seat and aiming his car down the too-familiar path to Alastair’s clinic.

He tried not to think. Tried to drive and stay calm and ignore the way his palms were sweating and his collar was wet and tight around his throat.

Green eyes. Alien expressions. Words that made no sense. Ash and smoke, bittersweet where there had been warmth and rich complexity.

It wasn’t fucking possible. It just wasn’t. It was some elaborate fantasy and Charlie didn’t know any better, even though she _should_ , even though she was the one who had helped him, had taught Jared the most when it came to understanding Jensen. Why would she lie now? Why would she fall into Jensen’s delusions _now_ , after all this time?

The clinic parking lot was deserted when Jared pulled into it and parked haphazardly, bumping into the curb and forgetting to lock his door. It was Friday night, almost nine, pitch black beyond the streetlight halos. And past that, because Jared could not stop himself from looking up, the stars were ruthless with their shine, their beauty. He glared at them, then scanned the street in either direction as he hurried towards the entrance, hoping maybe Jensen was waiting for him, would step out the darkness and into his arms. But he made it to the clinic’s dimly-lit entrance alone.

He pushed through the unlocked doors and walked into Jensen’s heat-scent, hanging in the air like a spider web. It was as gossamer; his own breath, sucked involuntarily into his chest and expelled as though he’d been punched, made the scent scatter.

Mouth open, tasting the air, his tongue tingling, numbing, he moved farther into the building, following wisps of Jensen. It was a fog by the time he reached the short hallway to Alastair’s office. Thick, cloying, and it was no matter anymore that it was intrinsically _wrong_. He could sense himself in the mixture of honeyed slick just waiting to be tapped, in the hormones that had him hard despite everything, even the gun in his pocket and the possibilities. Different than Jensen’s regular scent, yes, okay, but Jared had still marked this omega and they were bonded and that only happened when the chemistry was right, and it was only right once while both of them were still alive.

The scent marked Jensen as Jared’s, the familiarity making Jared’s heart swell as much as—more than—his cock, made him desperate for his omega. To touch, kiss, love. Clutch and devour and fuck. A part of himself he needed back to feel whole. To feel sane.

That stopped him. He closed his eyes. What was he going to do? Could he really give Jensen over to Alastair _now_ , like _this_? In heat, when an omega needed their Alpha more than anything?

Blind, Jared scented something else under the heat. Heavy and sharp, something that made the itch in his bones turn to glass, broken and grinding inside him. His neck hair prickled against his collar and he was moving forward again, eyes slitted, unaware of the low rumble in his chest. Fear. His omega was afraid and Alastair’s scent was now a strong undercurrent, getting stronger, a chunk of ice in Jared’s throat he was forced to swallow.

All thoughts and questions about whether to leave Jensen with Alastair, to have the doctor ‘fix’ his omega, disappeared completely. Jensen was terrified and if Alastair hurt him, Alastair was going to die.

Jared’s fingers brushed the door to Alastair’s office, already cracked open and venting Jensen’s fear. But the doctor’s voice, his fucking _words_ , froze Jared in his tracks.

“Come with me to the lab, Dean, and I’ll make you forget. Just like I made Jensen forget,” Alastair was saying, his tone easy, confident.

“Made him forget what?” Jensen’s voice— _Dean’s? No, please, no—_ was anything but easy. Wavering, like he was ready to cry through his rage. And it was rage. Jared could sense that now, too, and he knew he’d been wrong about his omega’s ability to kill.

“Me, sadly. Our precious time together. My sweet toy for so many years.”

“You’re a fucking monster, Alastair.”

“You don’t have any idea, pet. Would you like to see? I could show you. Fuck the heat right out of you while we watch digital of Jensen. His heats. The shock treatments. I have them all. That’s what I paid Jared with, the money Jensen’s pretty face and pink little hole earned me. Selling him, selling the films. Made me rich. Pretty little boy in heat? You wouldn’t believe the Alphas who will line up for that!”

Like the earth opened up beneath him, Jared fell into memory. Jensen crying, clawing at his own face, trying to make himself ‘unrecognisable’. Flipping out when Jared had called him ‘pretty’ the first time. That night in Houston when Jared had gone too far in his anger and fear and the child that lived inside Jensen had begged Jared, “—anything else. But just you, please—”

As if a blizzard had found its way inside, sparks nearly whited out the door in front of Jared. He cleared them away with a quick, cold breath, sucked between clenched teeth.

Alastair was laughing and calling Jensen his guinea pig, boasting Rhonda, that maniac girl who had left scars on both Jensen and Jared, was his creation. And the worst thing, what was twisting Jared’s stomach into a painful knot, was that Alastair kept saying _Dean_.

“You know about that already, don’t you, Dean? Whipped you up a delicious case of schizo. And it was easy enough to wipe Jensen’s memory over and over again. ECT does it naturally, but drugs, that’s what I like best. All those _reactions_. Better than sex. More controlling, more invasive. Just come over here, come with me, Dean. We’re going to be _very_ intimate.”

Jared’s hand slipped from the door and covered his mouth, trapping the denial that surged up his throat like bile. This was insane. They were _both_ insane! They had to be. It didn’t make sense. Except it did. It did, he knew it did and this time when he closed his eyes, tried to steady himself with his spine turned to water, tears spilled. Down his cheeks, over his hand.

“Big blade there, Dean-o. You wanna stick it in me, huh? I’ll let you. Just come over here and pick a spot.”

Jared’s heart missed a beat, and he sucked a gasp between his fingers. He had to stop this, but his world was turning inside out and he couldn’t make his own body move fast enough.

Numb, the door so out of focus that he missed the first swipe at it, he heard, “Oh, my lamb, you’re going into _heat_ , aren’t you? I’ve missed that. Let’s not fight, Dean. Just let me have you. I can make you feel _all better_.”

That moved Jared, like fire licking at his heels. His palm slapped against the door as the figures inside the room blurred, disoriented him. Jensen, holding the butcher knife from their kitchen, his body aligned in a way Jared had seen before, once, the first time Dean had surfaced. A fighter’s stance—shoulders loose, knees bent, legs set to swing from the hips—had Alastair up against his desk.

Jensen swung the knife at Alastair, but Jared saw the ruse. When Alastair flinched, ducked away from the blade coming at him from one side, he put himself directly in the path of Jensen’s right fist. Alastair howled as the blow connected, shattering his nose. Jensen passed the knife from his left to his right hand and Jared saw him coiling his muscles to strike with it again, and this time it would not miss.

“Jensen!” Jared shouted, too far away still to stop him physically.

His voice distracted Jensen, made him turn his head, glance over his shoulder at Jared. Then he doubled over, staggered to his knees with from blow Alastair delivered to his genitals.

Alastair scrambled away, kicking at Jensen as he did. One blow struck Jensen on the chin, snapped his head back and he fell forward, unconscious. Alastair snatched the lamp off his table and, breathing hard, his nose bloodied, he raised the heavy chunk of salt, preparing to bring it down on Jensen.

“Alastair,” Jared called, the challenge, the newfound hatred there louder than the word itself. The vibration of the doctor’s name on Jared’s tongue was bitter, gross, horrifying.

Alastair twitched at Jared’s voice. At the danger dripping from each syllable. He straightened up, let the lamp shatter on the floor. Whatever was happening, _whoever_ it was at Alastair’s feet, what Alastair said he’d done to Jensen had Jared seeing red. Had him past the point of angry or worried. Those words were not good enough, big enough, powerful enough to contain what he was feeling, and there was no way Jared was going to allow him to hurt him or his omega ever again.

“Your stupid fucking omega has been very bad, Jared!” Alastair proclaimed, his voice just a little shrill.

“Is that so? Your omega told me something different. She told me you’re the bad one. From what I just heard, I’m inclined to believe her.” As Jared spoke, his hands slipped into his pockets. He kept his pace slow as he crossed the room, hoping to confuse Alastair as to his intention while he angled himself towards the crumpled omega.

Alastair’s expression never changed—that smug, doe-eyed, I-know-something-you-don’t look. Jared wanted to rip it clean off his face.

Jared’s next words were a spray of acid in the air. “I’m going to fucking tear you apart.”

He moved, advanced on Alastair, cut off his access to Jensen and it seemed like Alastair finally understood the trouble coming his way. He backed up a few steps, his own shaking hands dipping into his lab coat, but he couldn’t seem to help the hubris as he snarled at Jared, “You tired of me fucking your boys, finally? Stuffing them full of drugs, keeping them addicted to me, needing _me_. Your cock, your ‘special bond,’ couldn’t compete, could they?”

 _Them them them. No. Please._ “ _He_ never wanted to come near you. I made him. I let you get to him, made him behave, made him trust you because I did.”

Alastair’s face screwed up at that, distorting his features into something vile, terrible. He let out a scream, a frustrated roar that caught Jared off guard, and the doctor rushed him in that moment of startlement. Jared stumbled back, but Alastair had him by the arm, digging in, pinching.

No, that was something in Alastair’s hand. Jared looked down at the source of the already fading pain, his blood rushing ocean-loud in his ears. There was a plastic pen jutting out of his bicep, like the one he used to inject Jensen with the omega hormones, but this was a different colour. He brushed it off and shoved Alastair back. He turned, looking for Jensen, having lost the omega’s scent under a sudden coppery rush in his sinuses.

Jensen was conscious again. He looked on the verge of being sick, and his eyes flew wide with alarm just as Jared felt something slide down his face. More tears? He wiped the back of his hand across his cheek.

It came away smeared with blood. His blood, and the moment he recognised the fact, he was drowning in it. It flooded his throat, filled his sinuses, tickled horribly as it trickled from his ears, and Jensen was staring up at him, his face giving away how bad it really was.

Alastair was yelling. “— _r_ _utting filth_! Worthless shit-eating Alphas! Think you can just fuck and mate and claim whoever you want! We’ll see, won’t we? I’ll start all over again so _Betas_ can have what we want, what we _deserve_!”

If there was sense to be made of all of this, what Alastair was screeching about claiming and biology, Betas and being deserving of everything, Jared didn’t care enough to try. The only thing that mattered was his omega.

Jensen was scooting away from both of them, and Jared _hated_ that. He had to protect Jensen. But he could hardly keep himself upright, dizzy and nauseated, and he had to wipe blood from his eyes to see clearly. His knees hurt, were in agony if he was honest with himself.

Jensen whined, high and loud and somehow Alastair had gotten between them, had scooped up the knife Dean had dropped. _Dean_ , because there was no way Jensen could ever look like that. Even on the floor, shaking and scared, the expression on the omega’s face was murderous and he was trying to get his feet under him, was going to fight Alastair and he couldn’t, Jared knew that. Jensen or not, he would not win the battle. If Alastair got his hands on him, he could bring him into submission with a hand to the back of his neck in just the right place, and there would be nothing the omega could do to defend himself.

The pistol was half out of Jared’s pocket and seemed to jump into his hand as he fumbled for it, fingers sticky with blood, gluing the gun in place. The recoil was nothing, but fresh blood gushed from his nose as he squeezed the trigger, as the small vibration rattled his arm.

Everything went round after that. Alastair’s eyes, his mouth, the bloody hole in his chest, and Jared’s vision. Dimmed at the edges, left only a circle for him to see through. In the center of it, he saw Alastair hit the floor. He beat Jared there, not by much, and did not move again.

Jared’s lungs were wet, heavy inside him. He twisted, trying to ease the pressure, unable to catch his breath, but he had to see Jensen, had to find him.

Jensen was there, lifting Jared so he wasn’t drowning, holding Jared to his chest, and Jared knew the truth. This wasn’t his Jensen. Fear and pain and weakness cracked Jared’s defenses, crushed the shell of lies and excuses he’d meticulously crafted around his life over the years. Especially the last year.

The dissolution had Jared drunk-tilted and the arms around him were his only anchor, kept him from spinning off into an abyss of disillusionment and shame and Dean trying to comfort him, save him, and it _was_ Dean. Jared was sure of it now. The scent was wrong, too wrong, not Jensen, never had been, even though Jared loved it now. The ruined eyes looking down at him hadn’t ever belonged to Jensen, even though they were scared and crying and so familiar.

Jared didn’t know, couldn’t comprehend what had happened, but it was something light and wonderful inside him to accept that it had.

“Oh man, Jared, don’t fucking die,” he heard.

He didn’t want to die. He wanted to understand what had happened. He wanted to fix this, like he’d said to Alastair. Not just that part. Everything. He’d done so much wrong he doubted he could be forgiven but he wanted to own it all, wanted to make it right with this, this… With Dean. Dean, who was begging him, holding him, Jared’s blood soaking them both. So much of it. He felt slippery and cold.

He tried to speak, felt blood bubble and pop between his lips. There was too much to swallow even as it ran from the corners of his mouth. Dean was closer, pressing his cheek to Jared’s and Jared caught his scent again: sweet, changeable, smokey. And Jared loved him, whoever he was. He’d already forgiven Jared so much. So many wrongs and hurt.

“Jensen,” Jared whispered, and he felt Dean’s defeat. Felt him sag, but Dean didn’t say no, didn’t correct him, and Jared finally, finally, understood. “Love him. So sorry, De. Find, keep him safe.”

“I promise, Jared. Fucking find him with me, though, okay? Just hold on, lemme get us out. You weren’t supposed to be here, dammit,” Dean rattled, desperation in his voice, in his thickening scent.

He moved as if to lay Jared down, but Jared grabbed his hand. The gun had fallen away but the ring had come out of his pocket with it, and it was stuck against his palm. Dean turned his hand over, palm up, and touched the ring almost delicately. He looked at Jared, bewildered.

“My ring? Jared, where—”

Jared felt a jolt, closed his eyes, assumed it was adrenaline trying to keep his heart beating. It was okay if it didn’t. He’d done what he could.


	2. Chapter 2

Sam saw the sunrise with Jensen from the front porch steps, then put him to bed and returned to his uncomfortable perch. He could watch the road, and he let himself stare until his eyes burned. He knew what he was hoping to see coming down it. Knew that it wasn’t going to happen.

Hours later, Jensen awoke and joined him, keeping vigil. He brought Sam food, took it away untouched. Returned with beer, and now the walkway was thick with broken glass. Jensen had pushed and pulled and coaxed Sam into getting up, taking a shower, but he’d ended up back on the steps, staring at the road as the day drifted by. It was no axis mundi; it was not going to lead him to his brother. It was just a blacktop lane in South Dakota that he was going to have to travel down again someday. Alone, this time.

No, not completely alone. Jensen would be with him, and he was calling out.

“ _Sam_!”

Sam hadn’t heard Jensen’s voice so panicked since the first day he’d shown up, when Sam had found him huddled under the stairs.

Sam jerked out of his stupor, up off the front steps. He bolted into the house.

He immediately smelled blood, a lot of it, and it made his body respond in a way that had his ears ringing, roaring with sound. He stumbled once, almost gagged on Jensen’s fear, the crushed-lily scent of his tears.

He burst into the library and there was Dean. Even on his knees, Sam knew those shoulders, that back, the tilt of his brother’s bowed head. He was curled over a bloody body that seemed all long legs and too much wild hair and Sam skidded to a stop when he recognised who Dean was holding. Oozing blood from eyes and nose and mouth, Sam’s mirror image was fighting for breath and clutching Jensen’s hands.

Sam staggered, dropped to his knees and grabbed his brother. “Dean, oh my god, what happened? I did the spell, I had to wait for the eclipse, but I thought it didn’t work, it was last night, you didn’t come back.”

Eyes closed, Dean leaned forward into Sam’s hold, but his arms did not come loose from Jared. “Oh god, Sammy. Thank god. Thank you. Sam.” Dean shuddered hard between Sam’s hands, quivering like a terrorised dog. Then he twitched back and hauled his gory burden higher against his chest. “Sammy, he needs help! Alastair jabbed him with something and he started bleeding like this. Can you help him? Can you stop it? Sam, _please_ —”

“Hey, hey, Dean, it’s okay. Are you hurt?”

“No, Sam. Please, we gotta do something. He’s gonna bleed out—”

“Sam!” Jensen yelped as Jared thrashed, heels digging into the floor.

“Dean, roll him over, this way,” Sam said as he grabbed a handful of Jared’s shirt and pulled.

The three of them held him up as he heaved a bellyful of blood onto the floor, coughing wetly between spasms.

It went on for a long time, this writhing and coughing, spitting. All the while, Sam found himself fighting the urge to shove the others away, to move his bloody doppelganger into the position he knew would be most comfortable, to say things to him that Sam would want to hear. _You’re fine. You’re gonna be fine._

It was hard not to think he was seeing his reflection. It wasn’t like he’d never seen his face this covered in blood before, his eyes weeping claret tears. He felt a little numb; lips cold, hands too far away, unnerved at seeing his own body in such distress.

He forced himself to think, to run through the mental catalog of what they had on hand that could help Jared. Hemostatic herbs, spells if they had to, wasn’t there something the ER might carry for hemophiliacs? Some kind of nasal spray?

But it was nearly impossible to concentrate. Jensen was starting to panic as Jared hissed, spattering him with bloody saliva.

And Dean. There was something to Dean’s scent, something hot and perfect that Sam couldn’t help sucking into his lungs greedily, gulping down, something delicious and complex that he could sense even over the Alpha-blood-omega-panic reek in his nose. He wanted to drag Dean up and away from Jared, push him in a corner and…just…what, have him? Pin him there and not let him go until Sam was sure he was okay, whole, sane, unharmed.

But blood took precedent. Sam put two fingers to the pulse at Jared’s throat. It was thin and too fast, but the beat was steady. Not jumping, at least. He had stopped struggling, had collapsed back against Dean.

“Okay. Can you breathe?” Sam asked, cupping Jared’s face, making sure his eyes could focus, track. He looked confused and exhausted. He was incredibly pale but his lucid, grey-gold eyes were on Sam—wide, shocked. Sam got a small nod and a wet-rattle inhalation. Okay, good. “Dean, is the hemorrhaging getting worse?”

Dean swiped at the blood on Jared’s mouth, his upper lip, trying to gauge the stream coming from his nose, but he just shook his head. “I don’t know! It just happened like, a minute ago. Sam—”

“Jensen, go get an ice pack and get hot water going on the stove. Bobby’s stash of herbs, Dean—”

Dean wasn’t listening, was rocking now, staring down at Jared who suddenly seemed unable to keep his eyes open.

“Dean? Hey!”

Dean looked up and for a second, Sam lost his train of thought. “Jesus, Dean, your eyes…”

Dark brown, shiny. Obsidian-flecked, diamond-sparked. One was green around the rim still.

“Sammy.” The sound was all hurt, all don’t-look, not-now, I-don’t-have-anything-left.

Sam swallowed hard, swallowed the taste of Jared’s blood and Dean’s fear. A shiver rocked him at the cold water on fire sensation.

“Uh, just, just keep him upright and awake if you can. Hey, Jared, stay with us, okay?”

A twitch of blood-filled eyes and Jared suddenly arched, tried to take a deep breath, choked on it. Bared his teeth in pain, and Sam had to fight down the sense of danger-wrong at the bloody fangs he saw for the first time. Huge, sharp, they nestled over the lower first premolars, hid them completely, touching the bottom gums—which were dangerously white.

Jensen was back with an ice pack. Sam had him hold it on the back of Jared’s neck, hoping to slow the nosebleed for now at least. Dean and Jensen were working together to keep Jared upright and calm. They hadn’t really acknowledged each other yet, but somehow Sam knew they weren’t ignoring one another. They were doing what their instincts were telling them was most important; everything else could wait. He left them to it and headed for Bobby’s medicine cabinet.

There were bags and bottles of herbs stashed all over the library. Sam hoped they were mostly fresh as he pawed through them. Jared should definitely be going to a hospital, but Sam had the feeling they wouldn’t get him back once the medical professionals started poking around in his blood, at his body.

Sam carried his finds into the kitchen. The kettle was hot enough when he plucked it from the stovetop, poured it over a worse-for-wear tea ball stuffed with dried alfalfa and yarrow. It needed to steep, and the twins in the other room weren’t calling for him, so he opened his laptop and typed _hemophilia blood loss bleeding eyes_ into the search bar.

Ten minutes later, he carried the tea and computer into the room, left another cup steeping in the kitchen. It was their best bet for now. Still on the floor, Jared seemed to be resting a little more comfortably than before, and someone had cleaned much of the blood from his face and neck. Jensen, Sam assumed, as Jared was in his lap now, and he was picking strands of bloody hair from Jared’s cheeks.

Dean was on the couch, elbows on his knees, head in his hands. He looked up when Sam entered, those hands dropping to rub along his thighs absently, as if he were in pain, his muscles aching. Sam noticed, and his stomach went tight at the familiar shifting, sore-stretching.

Jensen was looking right back at Sam when he glanced away from his brother, and it was all over his face, too. Sam steeled his own expression. He handed the computer to Dean so he could kneel down by Jared.

“Is he awake?” he murmured.

Jensen nodded and Jared’s eyes opened, crusted blood at the corners, irises red-rimmed. His scent was something dark, primordial, and the blood tang in the air over it made for a picture of ancient sacrifice, deep-woods ritual. It was such a contrast to the day-at-the-beach innocence of Jensen.

And Sam couldn’t help it. He really couldn’t. He wanted to see them together, wanted to watch this raw power dominate Jensen, consume him, own him. Wanted to know what Jensen was like lost in the wild of his Alpha, his innocence brutalised until there was nothing left that didn’t belong to Jared.

The thought was a feeling, was a split-second synapse firing, a single image at most, but they knew. Of course they did. This world wasn’t overflowing with pheromones and scents like their own. Here, it was only him and Dean, and Dean was in fucking heat and making everything worse. Better? Different? _Fuck_.

The spider legs sweep of being stared at had Sam’s arm hair on end, brought him back to the present. Jensen’s glitter-gold eyes were flare-bright (but from fright? Joy? Sam couldn’t make up his mind). Jared’s grip on Jensen’s wrist was proprietorial, and his glare was just as hard to decipher.

“Drink this,” Sam said.

Jensen took the cup and helped it to Jared’s lips.

“As much as you can. There’s more. It should help slow the bleeding. Try to stay upright. Lean forward if you can so you don’t swallow more blood.” He watched long enough to make sure Jared could do it, then went to his brother.

“Should we call Cas?” Dean asked as Sam sat next to him and opened his computer.

Sam shook his head. “I doubt he could do anything. He can’t even _see_ Jensen. It’s a long story, but Cas can’t interfere with them at all. Why he couldn’t find you. Hey, was there a, a Cas there, too? I mean, there’s a me and a you, who else—”

“Yeah. Everyone and then some.” Dean sighed and leaned back, unsettling eyes closed, exhaustion in every line of his body. He squirmed in his seat, frowned, opened his eyes and looked over at Jared automatically. His blood was still on Dean’s face, covering both of his hands. “Is he gonna be okay?”

“I think so. It looks like some kind of hemophiliac response, but it’s not getting worse. In fact, the bleeding seems to have slowed. He might have been injected with an anti-clotting medication for like, strokes, I guess? Here,” Sam said, opening several search links at once, “lemme read some of this…”

In the few minutes it took Sam to cross-reference symptoms and suggestions, Dean shifted himself a dozen times before he finally stood up and began pacing around the room. It was hard not to watch him, Sam discovered. Harder still not to follow him. Stalk him. Get up behind him and hold him tight and bury his face in the back of his neck and lap at that hot-sugar heat-scent he was trailing.

Jared, weak from blood loss as he was, apparently felt the same. His eyes never left Dean, even as he held onto Jensen and murmured as the omega fussed over him, cried on him.

_God, what Jensen must be feeling…_

He hadn’t wanted to go back, had been willing to abandon the Alpha he was now cradling. Had said he loved Sam.

Sam didn’t doubt that was still true.

“Jensen,” Sam said quietly, and got exactly the result he’d expected.

Dean flinched at the unexpected sound, flushed, and looked down at Jared. Jared didn’t move, didn’t look away from Dean, but he tightened his hold on Jensen’s wrist. Jensen responded immediately to Sam’s voice, turned his face to Sam obediently, and it was as if someone were standing on Sam’s chest.

He cleared his throat and stood. Dean went backwards as Sam approached, but stopped his retreat when Sam only knelt down by Jared. Checked his pulse again. Still fast, but his breathing seemed easier.

“Do you hurt? Like, your knees? Your joints?” Sam asked.

Jared shifted in Jensen’s arms and nodded.

“Okay, we need to get you up and moving around. There’s probably blood in your joints and if you don’t work it out it, the damage could be permanent. Jen, help me.”

Together, they hauled Jared upright. Huffing and limping, his arms slung over both their shoulders, they moved him awkwardly around the room. Dean remained still, standing near the doorway as if he were going to turn and flee at the slightest provocation.

“Dean, I need to go get something. C’mere and take him,” Sam said.

Dean made no move towards them. “I’ll go. What is it?”

“I don’t think—”

“Sam. I’ll go, whatever it is. Just tell me.”

“You’re covered in blood—”

“I’ll wash.”

“Dean—”

“Let him go,” Jensen interjected. “Sam, please. I’ll help him.”

And before anyone could object, Jensen was out from under Jared’s arm. Jared grunted in surprise and slumped heavily on Sam, who braced a hand on Jared’s chest to keep him from folding at the waist. Sam hunched in closer, pulling Jared along with him in a shuffle, but they were both watching Jensen approach Dean. Cautiously, hand out as if Dean were a stray—ready to bite or run, depending. Dean stood his ground, though, let Jensen get close, touch his arm, tug at his sleeve, pull him in the direction of the bathroom.

Dragging his eyes away from Sam, from Jared, Dean studied Jensen for a moment. Inspected him. His face, the so-faint bruising still marring his temple. His hand on Dean’s sleeve, the fact he was wearing Dean’s clothes. Dean’s chin came up, his mouth opened. Scented the air. Blinked once, twice. Slowly, and Sam felt his hands tingle when Dean’s eyes flicked to his and away.

A tiny smile curled the corners of Dean’s mouth, aimed at Jensen. “What do we need, Sam?” he asked, Jensen looking placidly back at him.

Sam had to try to get his throat to work. “Ah. Um, it’s, uh, it’s called desmopressin. They have it at that clinic Bobby uses. You know, the one he’s got all those prescription slips for? Just mark it like it shows on that page I left open. It should be like, an inhaler or a nasal spray. It’s a clotting factor, and I think it will do the trick to fix this.”

Dean nodded, still watching Jensen. Carefully not watching Sam and Jared. “Jensen,” he said, and to Sam it seemed as though he found pleasure in saying the name, in aiming it at its owner finally. “Grab Sammy’s computer for me? I’m gonna—”

The rest was lost under a loud groan from Jared as his knees buckled. Sam almost went down under the sudden weight. Jensen scurried to help but Sam waved him away, hoisting Jared back up, splaying his own legs until Jared got his feet under him again.

“It’s okay, Jen,” Sam assured him, “I got him. Help Dean, he knows what to do.”

Spinning blue-green, gold-ruby, Jensen’s eyes were wide and his bottom lip was in a heavy pout. Sam could tell he was unsure, worried to the point of crashing, of letting…who would it be? Ellen, probably. She’d come and take the pressure from Jensen. Maybe she’d even be more helpful, would know something they didn’t. Maybe Jensen would just drop to the floor and be one less thing for Sam to worry about right now. What he really wanted was Jensen, though. And he was sure Jared did too.  
  
“Jensen,” Sam said, forcefully. Louder than he normally spoke.

There was a rush of movement behind Jensen—Dean leaving, escaping the command he didn’t have to answer anymore. Sam knew that was true. He knew Jensen was right, that it hadn’t been the same for Dean and Jared as it had been for him and Sam. Jared hadn’t known better, hadn’t known the difference between Dean and Jensen, and Dean had suffered the consequences.

Dean disappeared, and Jensen was coming apart. Jared might be dying, and Sam was the only one holding it together. Sam, with his Wall-divided brain, his demon blood, his wicked love.

“Jen,” he repeated, pushing patience into his voice now that he had Jensen’s attention, had him focused. “Go with Dean. Take the laptop and go. Everything’s gonna be okay.”

“Okay,” Jensen echoed. He moved, stiffly at first, his eyes tracking Jared, but his Alpha had nothing to give. He probably couldn’t even see through the blood welling in his tear ducts, but Sam was happy to see the blood wasn’t thin, running easily. It was thicker, catching in Jared’s lashes. Hopefully, it meant whatever he’d been poisoned with was fast to act and fast to fade.

Jensen, computer clutched to his chest, listing to one side just a little, went the same way Dean had gone. Towards the bathroom, and Sam heard the sound of the shower, muffled by the door until Jensen opened it. Closed it again, and there was no protest, no quick exit by demand and if he’d had time to think about it, Sam would have found that profoundly interesting.

“This fucking hurts,” Jared said, and the first actual words he said to Sam made him jump. Jared moaned at the jolt.

“Damn, sorry. Uh, yeah, I bet it does. I’m sorry. I don’t have anything to kill the pain, either. Nothing that wouldn’t make your blood thin again, anyway.”

A chest cold of a laugh and Sam felt Jared try to straighten up, stretch his spine, take some of his own weight back. He could tell it hurt by the low gasp that caught in Jared’s throat, turned into another damp cough.

“Just take it easy,” Sam said. “Here, let’s go in the kitchen; that other cup of tea. You can rest for a minute but you should keep moving around, work the blood out of your joints.”

“I’ll move. Just don’t keep saying that.”

Sam’s turn to chuckle, and he was thankful for the easy noise. Jared was walking better, taking bigger steps, and he even stood on his own for a second while Sam got the cup within his reach. He sank into a kitchen chair and took several mouthfuls of the tea. Then he set the cup down carefully and put his face in his hands.

Sam couldn’t leave him, didn’t know if that was what he wanted. So Sam stayed where he was, his fingers picking at the seams of his jeans.

“Um—”

“Thank you,” Jared said.

“Oh. Yeah, of course. I mean. Um, Jensen, you know…told me about you.” Sam thought about asking if he could sit, if Jared minded. But he realised he wouldn’t leave right now, even if Jared told him to. Jared could start bleeding again, be dead before anyone knew better. Sam sat.

“Jensen,” he continued and Jared shifted, uncovered one eye to peer at him. “He’s good. You know? Like…I know there’s a lot going on with him, but I thought you might wanna know that he’s okay. He’s had some rough spots, but…he’s tough.”

A long look from Jared, a slow flutter of his eyelids, and the Alpha lifted his head. His next words made Sam bristle, made his palms hot and his jaw tight.

“He’s mine.”

It was hard not to rise to it, hard for Sam not to snarl back at Jared with all that he knew about Jensen’s willingness to stay here, to abandon Jared, how badly Jensen had hurt over the years. But he swallowed it down. Spread his hands flat on the table. Opened his mouth.

“He’s mine,” Jared repeated, deadening the vibrations in Sam’s throat. “Don’t think I don’t know. That I can’t tell. It… _You_ were all over. Over…Dean…when he. At first. I couldn’t understand it, where that scent was coming from. It was on his skin. For weeks. Faded so slowly. I told myself it was just—” Jared stopped himself, shook his head, lips cracking blood as he gave a bitter smile. “It doesn’t matter what I thought. None of it matters, does it?”

Sam couldn’t say, and Jared gave him no space to try.

“But it was nothing like the way it is with Jen.” Jared’s voice—and did Sam sound like that? Voices were different in your own head, he knew, but Jared had a tone. Something so familiar. It was dangerous, and—Sam felt it now being on the receiving end—more than just a little frightening. “He has you on his breath. Inside him.”

Sam stayed still, kept his hands down, his eyes on Jared’s and the accusations there. He knew if Jared wasn’t weak, wasn’t hurting, this would be more than just a verbal challenge.

“I don’t know what’s going on. Where I am. How this happened,” Jared said, and his face was back in his hand. He cradled his forehead as he stared down at the kitchen table as if answers were to be read there. “And I don’t know if I’ll ever understand.”

“You will,” Sam said, quiet and calm. He couldn’t blame Jared for his anger. “Jensen does.”

“A year’s a long time to adjust, I guess.”

Sam frowned. “A year? Dean’s only been gone two months.”

Jared knuckled his eyes, leaving rust streaks on his cheekbones, his hand. “That doesn’t make anything better, _at all._ Sam. Sam, huh? I’ve heard your name so many times. He, he fucking said it in his sleep, you know? You’re his brother.”

It wasn’t a question, but Sam nodded.

“Fuck, now I know why he fought me so hard at first.”

 _At first._ There it was, and Sam realised his fantasies were actually fears in disguise. Dean and Jared had fucked. Eventually. Dean hadn’t wanted it to happen because Jared looked just like his baby brother. But he’d done it anyway. Dean had let himself be taken by a carbon copy of his own brother, and Sam had wanted it to happen. Had wanted Dean himself so much that knowing this now gave him hope, and made him despise himself knowing Dean had resisted it happening.

“This is fucked up,” Jared said.

“Yeah,” Sam agreed. “Drink the rest of the tea.”

Jared did, and Sam got up to make more. The kettle banging on the stove disguised Jared’s approach. Sam had to flatten himself against the counter to keep from knocking into him when he turned.

“Jensen’s mine. My omega,” Jared said. His bloody breath, the anger-into-jealousy scent of him, the heavy musk of a body primed for war was what Sam imagined a landslide would smell like coming straight at him.

Sam tried to shift out of the way, to unpin himself, but Jared caught his arm. “Jared—”

“But I don’t want to hurt him.” Jared spoke over Sam again, and Sam realised he was using Sam to hold himself up as much as to keep Sam in place. “I _never_ wanted to hurt him. Not, not like that, not the way Alastair—not like that.”

“I know,” Sam said. He heard Dean and Jensen moving around in another part of the house. Hoped they didn’t come this way yet.

“Do you? Do you know what, what happened to him? What I _let_ happen to him? What I put him through? Because I _just_ fucking found out about it.”

“Yeah, I do. Some of it, at least. Jensen, he told me—well, sort of. Joey did.”

“Joey.” Jared’s eyes closed, his hand fell from Sam as if he had no strength to keep it there.

Sam reached for him, worried he was going to go down. But Jared backed away, stiff and unsteady.

“What do I do, Sam? How do I fix this? I hurt Jensen. And _Dean._ What I did to _him_ —”

It was the last thing Sam expected to hear.

Three steps forward and Sam had Jared’s arm this time. By now he was very good at gauging when someone was heading towards shock. And Jared was pale again, sweating, eyes half-focused as he tore himself apart inside his own head.

“C’mon. Over here, okay? Just lean on me and walk around. You gotta,” he insisted when Jared shook his head. “Just move. Until the water’s ready.”

It was weird, holding onto himself. Feeling the shape and weight of his own body as Jared limped in circles with him.

“How did this happen?”

“The switch?” Sam asked.

“Yeah. How… And why am I here? We can’t go home, can we?”

The worst part first. “No. At least, not as far as I know. You’re both here for good.”

Jared went heavy on his arm. Sam braced himself, but Jared kept his knees from buckling. Just barely.

“As for how, well, there’s a lot to it, but the Alastair you knew and the Alastair here hooked up somehow and thought it’d be fun to fuck with us, to switch Dean and Jensen.”

“The Alastair here?” There was no mistaking the violence in Jared’s tone.

“He’s dead.” Sam could still feel the oily slime of the demon’s black soul between his fingers.

Jared tilted his head, glanced at Sam from under the bloody fringes of his hair. Sam saw a familiar, crooked smile on his own face, the tip of Jared’s fang the only assurance Sam had that he wasn’t looking in a mirror. “Yeah. So’s the other one.”

Sam removed his arm from Jared’s waist so he could gather the peeping kettle off the stove and arrange more tea. Jared stood behind him, not wobbling as much as he had been. He even stretched, joints crackling as he bent back, raised his arms, his stomach streaked with dried blood. Sam sat the cup down close to him and backed away.

“I don’t know why you’re here,” Sam said, leaning against the counter. “What I did was supposed to send Dean back. His ring was the connection for him, something he had an emotional attachment to that would bring him home.”

“Just him?”

Sam nodded and was relieved when Jared slipped heavily back into the kitchen chair. The stretching had pushed pinkish tears into the corners of Jared’s eyes, gone stormy grey-blue and dull green-gold with exhaustion. He chewed on his bottom lip, that fang scraping at blood there, and Sam prayed he wouldn’t say it.

“What about Jensen?”

 _Damnit._ “He. He, uh—”

Dean, clean and in his own clothes, cleared his throat from the doorway, and Sam’s heart shot into his throat at the sight of his brother. That heart swelled, overflowed, heated Sam’s cheeks and chest and belly and cock when the sweet incense of Dean’s scent crept into the room. Just a tendril to Sam’s unrefined senses; it must have been a whirlwind to Jared. The Alpha’s hands fisted, shoulders tensed, his dangerous mouth opened wide as it registered.

“Sam, keys.” Dean had his hand out, the only part of him in the room with Sam and Jared.

Sam fished them out of his pocket. Jared watched them arc through the air, turning his head as they clinked into Dean’s palm, then he looked up at Dean’s face.

Sam saw the moment, saw the hesitation, the awkwardness Dean fought against. Dean almost asked Jared for permission to leave. Sam knew because that’s what Jensen would have done. His head dropped, his shoulders, then he lifted his dark eyes and the side of his mouth in a weak half-smile for Jared.

“Desmopressin,” he said. Sam nodded. “Got it. Jen’s in the library. Might…wanna check on him.” A pause and Dean’s eyes left Jared’s finally, wouldn’t look at Sam. “One of you.”

And then he was gone. The familiar stomp through the house elated Sam. The clack-thud of the door and the distant squeak of the Impala being saddled. Gravel tossed under wheels. Sounds Dean had perfected and Sam dreaded never hearing again.


	3. Chapter 3

Jared needed to hear it. Someone needed to say the words to him.

He watched Sam stumble over them, saw the look on the guy’s face. The stricken, guilty sadness there. And yeah, Sam could get away with that because he _was_ Jared, wasn’t he? In some ways, he must be. At least if Dean and Jensen were anything to go by.

Of course Jared knew now, could see easily all the ways they were not like each other, but how was he to have known at the time? This, right here, what was happening, wasn’t something that was _supposed_ to happen. But it did, was, and he was having a spectacularly hard time staying focused with something like his identical twin shifting uncomfortably in front of him. With Jen’s—no, _Dean’s_ —scent eddying around him. Even with his back turned, with his head aching terribly, Dean’s approach had made Jared feel light. Elated.

Even though he wasn’t _really_ Jared’s omega.

No, his omega was in another room. So close to him, but he wasn’t _here_. Where he needed to be. And even though Sam hadn’t finished what he’d started saying, Jared knew. He knew why Jensen hid, why he’d left Jared with Sam instead of being right there with him like he should have been.

Jared stood abruptly as the sounds of Dean’s exit faded. Too fast. His chair threatened to tip and so did he; had to put his palms on the table as his vision swam and his knees protested.

Sam made a move, but Jared shook his head. Sam stopped, and when Jared pushed away from the table, Sam didn’t follow.

Jared didn’t need to ask where the library was. The pull on his heart was hand-over-hand, led him straight to Jensen. The walk through this cluttered and sanguineous house was treacherous; old carpets threatened to catch his scuffing heels, towers of precariously balanced books leaned towards him as he passed by. He could scent the danger here. The gunpowder (his own hand had that odor still) made him leery of bracing on anything for fear of a deadly trap. But he made it through the house unscathed.

“Jensen,” he called, throat still thick with his own blood, the word rough and heavy.

Jensen was hunched over, a too-thin ball. He didn’t move. Fists over his ears, he couldn’t hear his Alpha calling and he was still in stained sleeves, Jared’s death-scent so intense up close.

When Jared touched him, stepped across the universe to be by his side finally, a tear-stained face was suddenly crashing into his own. Kissing, whimpering, smearing lips and tears and copper-tainted spit. Jensen was frantic, and Jared had to palm the back of the omega’s neck to still him.

“Baby, it’s okay,” Jared shushed against Jensen’s quivering mouth. “I love you. Can you talk to me, Jen?”

“Are you real?” came the heartbreaking query.

“Yeah, honey. I’m real. Really here.”

Jensen tugged on Jared’s hold, tried to kiss him again and it was the only thing in the world—this or any other—that Jared really wanted, but he held Jensen in place. Jensen gave him a confused, wounded look, tried again, and Jared put a hand to his chest this time.

Jared said, “I almost didn’t get you back, did I?”

“Alpha…” Jensen moaned the word, and he had never been good at hiding things from Jared. Some of the other personalities had been, but not Jensen. It was right there, obvious in the bruised-flower droop of his mouth, the fanning of thick eyelashes over spilling tears, the way he surged towards Jared one last time. To hide.

Jared curled his fingers, dug into either side of Jensen’s spine, made him exhale raggedly as the clusters of nerves there deadened the rest of his body. He sagged, eyes flaring green. Like Dean’s had been.

“Tell me, Jensen. Tell me I’m not supposed to be here. That you weren’t coming back to me. Lie to me and tell me there was no way for that to happen, that you wanted to come back to me but couldn’t.”

A broken cry was what Jared got, a look of devastation. Shimmering eyes rolled up, threatened to close and Jared shook him. Slapped him.

“Don’t! Don’t fucking go off somewhere! Answer me! Tell me you were gonna leave me there _alone_. You were going to abandon me after everything we’ve been through.”

Jensen’s cheek was red, handprinted, and he’d slumped to one side, Jared the only thing keeping him from the floor. But his eyes were on Jared and Jensen was behind them, hurting in the way only he could.

“A-A-Ah—” He was trying for the word and Jared had Jensen’s skin under his fingernails, blood welling up in the crescent marks.

“Was it so easy for you? Forget me, leave me there? Because you had _him_? You’re so _fucked up_ , Jensen. I _never_ gave up on you! Even, even when—when it wasn’t _you_. And you wouldn’t even leave me _him_. I’ve given you everything and you were gonna leave me with nothing!”

He shook Jensen, felt blood beneath his nails slip down Jensen’s back, coat his own palm. So much blood today. More than he’d ever seen in his whole lifetime. Most of it his own. But Jensen’s was so sweet. Just the little palmful was filling the room with his essence and it made Jared falter, made him regret, made his patience unfold like wings around them both until there was nothing else but him and his mate, both hurting, both lost and found and confused.

Almost nothing else. A tiny thing, something caught in Jensen’s scent like a dewdrop on the tip of a leaf. As delicate. New and fragile inside him, and it wasn’t because of Jared. He hadn’t done this to Jensen, hadn’t put a baby inside him, and for one terrible lightning-strike instant, Jared thought about taking it away from him. Rage, possessiveness, welled up inside Jared, made those wings catch fire and if the blaze through his body had been real, he would have held Jensen to him and killed them both. Burned this nightmare down around all of them.

Jaw clenched, canines bared and his throat almost too tight to get the words out, Jared asked what he didn’t want to know, what he already knew the answer to. “Do you love him?”

As if he didn’t know that Jensen couldn’t answer him.

Louder, almost a scream. “ _Do you_? Do you fucking love that thing in there?”

Incoherent noises from Jensen, but he was trying. Jared’s hand had gone from Jensen’s chest to his face, was gripping his jaw, whitening the skin there where later it would turn blue-black, and Jensen had his wrist. Weak, tugging, rubbing, and they’d been here before, Jared suddenly remembered.

Jensen had almost left Jared then, too, and Jared just couldn’t anymore. He couldn’t hold on. Fight Jensen. Whatever he wanted to do, Jared would let him. Maybe he should have let him before. Would have kept these brothers together, would have spared Dean so much suffering and Jared years of worry and fear.

He let go. He slipped out of Jensen’s hold and went to the floor on his aching knees, feeling like he was made of wet sand. Heavy, formless. His tears were ground glass. For the first time, he found and understood the solitude and comfort Jensen experienced in deafness. He shoved his hands over his ears to block the omega’s pleas and explanations. Jensen followed him down, was prying at him and Jared could smell him. And Sam and what they’d done together and it was too much.

If he’d had his eyes open he would have seen Jensen scuttle back from him, driven away by the roar that started somewhere in his belly and threatened to break his jaw as it clawed its way free of his throat, a monstrous thing given life by his grief and betrayal and loathing. By loss and love.

So he didn’t see Jensen go onto his ass, startled and scared. Didn’t see him get away, up. Go to Sam who was in the doorway, who’d come reluctantly to protect him. Jared didn’t need to see. He knew anyway. Sam’s faint, tart-warm scent preceded him, and the retreat of Jared’s omega ripped at his blood, pulled more of it from his eyes and nose. Not so much as before, when he’d saved Dean.

 _Dean._ And he wouldn’t have _had_ to save Dean if he’d only _listened._ If he hadn’t been so afraid. Oh, what his fear had done to those he loved. There was no one left to hurt now. Jimmy was long dead. Dean didn’t belong to Jared in the first place, had found his escape, brought them both to this place where Dean could be himself again and where Jared had no hold, no power over anyone, and it was better this way.

Proof of that was Jensen with his sweet scent, clean of drugs for the first time ever. The spike and wane of it spoke to Jared of real emotions, told him Jensen was finally free of Alastair’s induced madness, that Jensen was able to think and desire on his own. And Jared was happy for that. Thrilled, even as the unwanted could’ve-been replay of their years together flashed through his mind, the life they might have lived but for his fear. And now he also understood Jensen’s self-harm. The hitting and banging, trying to stop his brain from going where it was hopeless, useless to go.

It was Sam who stopped him. Just as Jared’s pressing hands curled into fists to bash in his own skull, Sam grabbed him. Wrist captured, an arm around his ribs, Sam was on his knees next to Jared, and wasn’t he brave? Talking calmly, not trying to maneuver, just holding on. No one should do that though. No one should be near him, try to save him. He said so. Said _something_ , his own voice a ruined whisper, sorrow vibrating through him.

Sam said Jared’s name and something else. Said it again and Jensen joined the chorus and Jared couldn’t fight their hands on him. He _could_ , could’ve thrown them both off and found a way to save them all from how awful and blind and destructive he was. Guns, blades. He could find his way to them easily in this place. To the roof. He could just wait for Dean to come back and go at the man with intention and Dean would probably definitely find a way to murder him on the spot. Jared deserved it. What he’d done to Dean. No wonder Jensen had turned to this other him so readily, so easily.

“Shut up,” Sam said. He was closer and now he was prying, pulling with snapping force at Jared’s fingers. “You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.”

Sam was angry, and Jared thought about pushing it. He knew somehow that this man was made of the same things, that Sam had made mistakes and been afraid and hurt people, and that he had this pain inside him, too, this incredible fear that could lead him to, drive him into, killing. Would fiercely protect that which he loved. That’s all Jared had ever tried to do. Protect Jensen. Sam knew about that, knew more about it than Jared did, apparently, because he’d done it right and Jensen had chosen Sam over him and now there was no separating them. No place for Jared here or anywhere else and he didn’t even really understand where here was. Where was he? He was falling, lost in time and place and there was no going back, no home for him anymore.

Jared came to with some kind of astringent taste in his mouth, his sinuses, and his face felt sunburn-warm, flushed. He blinked once. Again. Seeing double. In a dream, seeing himself.

“Sam,” Jared heard.

_Oh. Right. Him, not me. Jensen and Dean and Sam. And I am Jared and I fucked everything up._

Again, “ _Sam_ —” A desperate word, and it was Dean talking. Pleading with his brother.

“No, Dean. You can’t leave. Not like. Not now.” Sam’s tone was firm, but his scent was giving him away, leaking his fear and his greediness into the air.

Dean wasn’t trying to hide anything. His voice was saturated by desperation and his scent was the same. And more. His heat was coming on stronger by the second and Jared’s flush spread from his cheeks to his neck to his chest. The palms of his hands. Lit his belly and lifted his cock. “Sammy, you don’t _know_ —”

“Yeah, he does,” Jensen said, and Jared’s heart skipped painfully. The words made him wish he could stop it beating altogether. “He knows what’s happening, Dean, because it happened to me.”

“Well, that’s just _great_ ,” Dean growled. “Fuckin’… What the hell, Sam? If. If that’s the case, then just let me go to a motel or something—”

Sam again, and it was a battle. Jared knew because he had been there so many times: talking an omega out of being reckless, holding them back when their body was driving them into action. In Dean’s case, it was to flee, and if Jared’s heart couldn’t _stop_ , it could still definitely break. It shouldn’t. Shouldn’t hurt like this to be rejected, to be something Dean was running from. Jared hadn’t had a lot of time to process everything that had just happened to him—and it was _just_. Minutes, hours at the most since his life had been gutted and turned upside down, all the pieces slipping out of reach. Something irreversible, a vivisection of reality. But he could still see why it was this way. Why Dean would want to run and hide. From him. From his brother.

Jensen was talking. Softly; had moved closer to Dean. Jared could see Jensen on his knees next to the chair Dean was sulking in. Shifting restlessly, flicking his gaze between Jensen and his brother, never landing on either for too long and the movement made glittering trails of his eyes, starlight captured there. Stars. The universe. Where _were_ they, even? How far from home? Was it just a step to the side, a tiny matter of vibration, or was it lightyears?

The stars in Dean’s eyes leaked out, danced in the space between Jared and the rest of the room and he groaned, feeling himself tipping in his own skin again.

_Sit up or throw up._

He lurched upright. His vision swimming, blurred, he still saw Dean react first. As if they were connected, when Jared sat up Dean jerked, went to push himself to his feet. His scent burst over Jared _AlphaneedwantloveJaredfuckneedAlpha_ but then Dean’s heels slipped and he let himself fall back into the chair.

Jensen turned. Looked. Begged with eyes and hunched shoulders and pouting lip for Jared to let him come near, and he would have. He suddenly didn’t care what had happened, what Jensen had done. This was too much to bear alone. And he didn’t begrudge Sam stepping between him and the omegas. It was what he would do.

Sam didn’t say anything. Stood there in his worn jeans and his slept-in shirts which were awash in cheap liquor and Jensen’s tears, his brow furrowed, lips in a little sideways twist that was intimately familiar to Jared because he’d seen himself make that very face more than once in the mirror.

“I’m fine,” Jared supplied. His throat was hospital-mopped and sore from rage. “I’m sorry,” he said. To them all.

He heard Jensen let out an imprisoned breath and saw Sam’s surprised eyebrow tick, a nod, but Dean said, “I’m going,” to no one in particular.

“ _No._ ”

Half-turned, Sam barked the word at his brother and Dean flinched. _Cowered_ in his chair. Tucked his chin and lowered his eyes. Made of the same stuff, Jensen did too.

Sam sighed and shifted uncomfortably. “Look,” he started. Cleared his throat, cast a worried glance at Jared, an almost _am-I-doing-this-right?_ question to the tilt of his eye. Jared held himself still, impassive. Maybe he was testing. Sizing.

“Look, Dean,” Sam said, “you can’t leave. I get it, man, I do. We’ll figure something out, but you gotta stay here. You’re safer here than out there on your own. Okay? You gotta know that.”

“ _Fine_ ,” Dean hissed, his blackened eyes drifting almost to Sam and away again because to look at him would mean seeing Jared right behind him. They finally settled on Jensen. On his hand on Dean’s knee, and Jared silently praised his omega for knowing what to do, for knowing what Dean needed to keep him grounded. Dean had to be touched: caressed, petted, soothed. He was hurting, Jared could tell by the too-hot scent, something he wanted to put his own tongue on to wet and cool down, wanted to dampen with his kisses and his come and stoke back to life with his knot locked tight and perfect inside—

“Maybe you want to wash all the blood off, Jared?” Sam said, watching Dean and Jensen as well. “I’ve got clothes that’ll fit. Obviously. Uh, I can—”

“I’ll do it, Sam,” Jensen offered. He smiled at Dean, a comforting, sympathetic thing as he squeezed Dean’s thigh, ran his hand up higher but pulled back in his own private game of keep-away just as Dean moved to stop him. He stood, turned, disappeared entirely behind Sam for a moment and it pleased Jared to see that for the first time, to see how his omega’s body fit within the boundaries of his own.

“Alpha,” Jensen murmured, reappearing.

Asking Sam or begging Jared still, it was of no consequence to Jared. What was done was done, and maybe it was Dean’s heat on top of blood loss and the fact that Jensen was carrying Sam’s child and Sam himself was fucked up over all of this as much as or maybe even more than Jared, but Jared just wanted his omega, whichever one would come to him. That it was Jensen was fine, was wonderful. Was familiar and home and Jared forgave him everything.

No, Jared forgave himself. All the fear and anger and pain, he couldn’t keep it, didn’t want it. He wanted this. Wanted his mate. Forgave himself for wanting Dean, too, still, so much. And as Jared pressed the side of his face to Jensen’s full belly, felt his omega tuck blood-clumped hair behind his ear, he knew he might have to live with never being forgiven by anyone else in this room. Not completely anyway, and he knew that was what he deserved.

He closed his eyes. This was what he’d made of his life. All of his inaction and demands and ignorance and selfish love had brought him to this place where Jensen had what Jared didn’t give him and Sam by all appearances was a better man than Jared could ever hope to be, and here where he was happy to let Dean go if that’s what Dean wanted, if all Jared could do for him was fight his own instincts.

Jared let Jensen guide him to his feet and past Sam, away from Dean. Jensen talked to him, his own arms curled around one of Jared’s, close enough to him the words were born a whisper and died without straying past Jared’s shoulder. They’d gotten him medicated. Maybe he’d like to sleep? Or eat? He’d been missed. Everything would be okay. It was okay here. He’d see, and everything would be okay. Promises.

He was stripped. He felt almost drunk, dazed definitely. That was okay, too. Jensen had slept much of his first few days here, himself. Water was turned to spray in the tub and Jared’s hands couldn’t let go of Jensen. He couldn’t do that. To be totally alone was unbearable. Jensen shook his head, bit his lip, but Jared persisted until his omega was naked for him, and only then did he allow himself to be bathed.

The water washed all the other scents away. His own injuries; he swallowed and spit and scrubbed until his mouth was clean of copper and medication, of teas and bitterness. Jensen’s hands and nails soaped and scraped him from his hair to his toes until the evidence of violence disappeared and then Jared touched him back. Tipped his face into the water until the salt and Sam’s kisses were gone from his cheeks and eyes and hair and neck. There were marks there, teeth-set and slow to heal and Jared pinched at them as Jensen looked serenely up at him.

“Does he know?” Jared asked, leaving the bite to take Jensen’s hips in hands.

“No. I didn’t mean for it to happen. I didn’t—”

“It doesn’t matter, Jen. It does, I mean. But we’ll figure it out.”

“Do you hate me?” The question was slippery on his skin as Jensen’s mouth moved in the water running over Jared’s shoulder, the only thing between them as they held each other.

“Of course not. Do you love me?”

Jensen said yes, and he repeated the words when he had Jared’s cock in his mouth minutes later.


	4. Chapter 4

“Um. Do you want a beer?”

Dean nodded, which was good because it would have been weird if he hadn’t wanted it.

And actually, skip the beer. Dean didn’t say anything when Sam handed him a dirty glass with two inches of Bobby’s finest in it. He knocked half of it back, squinched up his face in appreciation, exhausted the fumes and raised the glass at Sam in thanks. Sam’s own sip wasn’t as ambitious, so he doubled up once his throat stopped burning, and sat on the couch.

“Two months,” Sam said when everything had been silent for too long.

Not entirely silent. Dean had sighed several times, wriggled in the creaking leather chair. The shower was running elsewhere in the house, a dim whisper. The squeaks of skin on porcelain were louder and a few thumps made Sam glance nervously in the bathroom’s direction, but no sounds of violence or calls for assistance came.  When the water stopped running and the door closed to the room where Sam and Jensen had been nesting, Sam decided to start talking instead of listening.

“That’s how long you’ve been gone. Jared said it was a year for you.”

Dean set his teeth to the edge of his glass in a humourless smile before pouring half of what was left into his mouth. “Ah, that’s _great._ Fuck, I am so old. What the hell.”

“I’m just glad it worked. The spell. That it brought you back.”

“Yeah,” Dean laughed. “Me, too. Man, that was some bullshit.”

“What, uh. Dean. What happened? To you? Are you okay?”

“Pretty fucking far from okay, Sam.” That grin again, and Dean held out his empty glass.

On a whim, Sam took the glass and put his own, still mostly full, in Dean’s hand. Watched Dean touch the tip of his tongue to the ghost of Sam’s lips on the glass before taking a long swallow.

After he’d licked the glass once more, Dean asked, “So, Cas can’t fix…this?” He gestured vaguely to his face. His eyes.

“I don’t know. I don’t think so. You want me to call him?”

Dean thought about it a moment. Contemplated the whiskey, then nowhere; inside, maybe. Then up at Sam. Eyes half-lidded, his mouth moving vaguely as if he’d forgotten how to work his throat, he finally nodded. Once. 

Sam thumbed three on his speed dial. Cas’ rambling message. Sam said, “Cas, hey. Dean’s back. You should come see us.”

They both tensed, expectant, but no angel came. Dean sniffed and shrugged, relaxed back, shifted low in his seat, legs splayed, the whiskey dangling precariously from his fingertips between thighs spaced just Sam’s-hips width apart. Sam placed the phone on the coffee table so he wouldn’t have to reach into his pants for it if Cas called back.

Dean said, “So you know. About. This. What’s going on with me.”

The blush bloomed like a flame in his chest, blistered his cheeks, and Sam had nowhere to hide it. From it, or Dean’s inscrutable gaze. “Yeah. Um, yeah. Jensen, he, he, uh. I—”

“He really crazy? Like, crazy-crazy?” Dean interrupted, and Sam was certain he’d waited just long enough to hear Sam stutter over the explanation of exactly what he knew and how he knew it.

“Well…I guess so, yeah. Some of it was what Alastair did to him, though, right? Alastair… Dean?”

Dean nodded, sighed. “Yup. That was fun. Nice trip along memory lane there that I never wanted to go on. Two down, though. Let’s hope it’s a universal invariable, or whatever.”

“Invariant.”

“Dude, I said whatever.”

It was Sam’s turn to laugh, and he won a smirk from his brother.

“You just letting Jensen go back to him?” Dean asked.

Sam’s laugh turned sour in his mouth, and he wished he had his whiskey. He risked rising, turned away quickly, but then he had to go back for Dean’s original glass or suck straight from the bottle.

He had to answer. Dean had that expression, the why-are-you-making-me glower that Sam knew from childhood, that Dean had used on him whenever Sam had acted out and Dean needed to know why, what could he fix, what could be done, what did Sam need to be okay.

Sam sat down again. As close to Dean as the couch would allow. “I can’t stop it. I. It’s not my place to stop it. It’s not. Is it?”

“Do you want to?”

Sam actually flinched back from the question. Such a weird thing for Dean to ask. But then, was it really? A year apart. So much could have happened to Dean. So much _had_ , obviously.

Jensen had been dead-on about Dean’s scent. Applewood smoke, a little sweet, a little scorched. Delicate, slightly stinging, a cloud around Sam’s head that was raining down hot honey. Dean’s heat. The same amrita had lured Sam into Jensen’s arms the first time.

Dean was pushing all the tasteless air out of the room, slowly but surely replacing it with this unmistakable, undeniable scent. Making Sam himself crazy with it. Dean was an omega. In heat. Had become something more than himself, something different. Maybe he was trying to talk to Sam about it, and of course he’d be unpracticed. If Sam wasn’t careful he might scare Dean away, shut him down.

Cautiously, Sam said, “I wanted you back, I know that for sure. I didn’t want Jensen to leave, and, and he didn’t want to go back, either.”

“He wanted to stay with you. What about Jared?”

Sam chewed on the inside of his cheek for a moment before answering. “I didn’t ask about Jared very much, to be honest. I didn’t want to know. What happened to Jensen… I was worried about you. Did…are you. Did he hurt you?”

Sam almost thought Dean was going to ignore the question. He’d gone very still, only his eyes moving, remembering, and Sam felt sick at the length of time Dean was taking, as if there was so much to remember. Finally, “Yeah. He did. It wasn’t his fault, though.”

“Alastair,” Sam repeated.

Dean drank, wiped at his mouth with the back of his hand, winced when he touched a blue bruise on his jaw. He nodded, eyes cutting to the side. Away from his brother saying the name, and Sam vowed to nix it from his vocabulary.

“Jensen,” Sam started again. “He knows, I think. That Jared was doing the best he could. He was just scared. You, uh. We didn’t know, you know? If like, you were making it…worse? Or something. For Jensen. If, if he went back all of a sudden, what kind of shit he’d be walking into.”

A sort of slow, full-body rock of a nod. “Fair enough.”

“You’ll like him,” Sam said impulsively. Wanting it to be so. “Get to know him. Jared…um, he doesn’t seem…bad, I guess?”

Dean’s legs twitched, threatened to close. He put one hand to his face, covered his mouth for a second, then slipped the hand down his neck and held it over a spot high on his left shoulder. “He’s not. He’s not bad. He just is what he is and he fucked up, no doubt about it. He saved me. ’S why he was all a mess when the spell finally kicked in. Saved my ass from Alastair. Killed him.”

“Yeah, he told me.”

“You and him both. Isn’t that somethin’?”

It was. It was incredible, really, and Sam was so grateful to Jared. But the question was still there, and he knew Dean was aware he hadn’t answered it with anything more than another question.

Dean confirmed it. “You and Jensen…it’s not going to bother you?”

Sam let reality push his shoulders down, weigh his face to the floor. “It’s his choice,” he admitted. “That’s all he really ever wanted. To choose, to have a say in what happens to him. I’m not gonna take that away from him now.” He paused, frowned, decided. “I’m not going to let Jared take that away from him, either. And besides—”

 _I have you_ was lost under the sudden fluff of the air around them, the scent of ozone and flowers. A rare smile was on Castiel’s face as he spotted Dean.

“I came as soon as I checked my messages.”

Dean laughed, and it was an agreeable sound. Happy, careless, and it reminded Sam of Jensen. Of the omega in another room, behind a closed door with another man. With his Alpha, and Dean was still laughing while Sam’s heart tore in his chest. He shut his eyes for a moment, let the pain find its home inside him. And when he could see again, Dean was grinning and Castiel still had that blue moon smile on his lips, but his hands were in his pockets and Sam could tell he was nervous. Uncomfortable.

“Sam,” Cas said, inclining away from Dean somewhat, though his eyes never left his face. “Is this Dean? His irises are not green.”

“Yeah,” Sam replied, smiling himself now, if only to ease the way into what were bound to be personal details on Dean’s part. “About that. It’s Dean, I promise.”

“In the flesh!” Dean added.

“We, uh, were wondering if you can do anything for him. To help. Um, he’s—”

“The omega-man,” Dean snickered, then wrinkled his nose. “I wish. But, yeah. Hey, good to see you, Cas. By the way. Miss me?”

“I was very busy, but yes, your absence weighed heavily on me. And Sam, as well.”

“That’s just warm and fuzzy of you. Alright, then. So hey, yeah, don’t suppose I’m lucky enough that you can just mojo this crap outta me, huh?”

“Crap?” Cas raised an eyebrow and made a confused gesture at Sam with his hidden hands.

“He’s been drugged, Cas. And given hormones, I guess? They thought he was Jensen.”

“Ah, I see. And the omega is still here, I take it?” Cas hadn’t thought it was a good idea for Jensen to stay, and he would probably think what had happened was even worse.

“Yeah, he is. And his Alpha is here, too.”

“What? Sam, Dean, the angels are not going to be happy about that. One of them might have slipped under the radar, but two of them… I cannot guarantee their safety.”

“Wait, why would the angels care?” Dean asked, alarmed.

“It’s a long story, Dean,” Sam said, but Cas interrupted him.

“It’s not just the angels, Sam.”

“Who—”

Cas stiffened suddenly, set his jaw in a belligerent jut. “Never mind. I will work it out.”

“Uh, thanks, Cas. We don’t want any trouble because of this,” Dean said, utter confusion all over his face. “Anyway, so, about me.”  

Dean was standing now, very close to Castiel and normally he’d be telling him to back off, but this time it was Dean who’d brought them so close together. Cas was inspecting Dean as if he were counting his freckles. That was impossible. Sam knew; he’d tried. But Cas was studying him intently nonetheless.

“I can’t turn you back to what is normal for you,” Cas said finally. “If these were purely artificial modifications, there’s a chance I could remove them. But there is nothing synthetic about your current form.”

There it was, and Dean twisted up his face like Cas was telling the world a secret. But Sam was the only one here, and his own body had been sure of this fact from the moment he’d gotten his hands on Dean for the first time. Sam wanted to say something, the little brother in him wanting to cover for Dean, field the awfulness he knew Dean felt at this diagnosis.

But Cas, seemingly oblivious to Dean’s discomfort, kept talking. “However, I think your immune system will begin to fight what it was subjected to and return you to your previous state. But it may take some time, as it was obviously very intensive. It is good to see you again, Dean. Although your eyes are very disconcerting. Is your vision any different?”

Dean turned to Sam with a manic smile. “You’re buying me sunglasses.”

Castiel was waiting for Dean’s answer, but Dean didn’t seem to care. He was looking back at Cas with the same sort of weird intensity Cas had when he’d been studying Dean a moment ago, but of course Cas did not bristle under the examination. He appeared content enough to watch the diamonds and onyx spit light from the irises of Dean’s eyes.

“Do you still have Jimmy’s wallet on you, Cas?” Dean asked.

A blink, broken hypnosis, and Cas nodded. “Uh. Yes.” Patted pockets, the item retrieved and placed in Dean’s waiting palm.

Sam and Cas both looked at Dean, waited to see what he wanted with it, but Dean just held it.

“Cool. Mind if I borrow it for a bit? I’ll give it back. I never pegged you for the sentimental type.”

“It’s useful on occasion,” was Cas’ gruff reply.

“Softie,” Dean ribbed, then waved a hand dismissively. “I missed you, Cas. C’mere.”

The hug was even rarer than Castiel’s smile, and shorter-lived. As far as Sam could tell, Cas actually jerked back.

“I should go. I’m happy you’ve returned home safely, Dean. I’m sorry I cannot be of more help. Though. If.” He paused and studied Sam for a long moment.

Sam frowned at him.

When Cas finished his thought, it was with his eyes on Sam, though the words were for Dean only. “If you need me, call. I will come immediately.”

“Oh. Okay. Thanks, Cas. That’s, that’s good to know. Nice of you.”

“Yes, nice,” Cas said, inexplicably. “Sam. Dean. Good night.”

A puff of air made both brothers flinch, and Castiel was gone. Dean hummed thoughtfully in his throat, nodded to himself, and looked down at the wallet in his hand.

“What do you want that for?” Sam asked.

Dean didn’t answer right away. He flipped the cheap black leather open with his thumb, checked for bills first, then slipped a card out of its spot.

“It’s Jimmy,” Dean said, stating the obvious. He was drunk, wasn’t he? “I was thinking ’bout showing this to Jared.”

“Why?” Sam asked, using the license as an excuse to come up close to Dean, behind him. Look over his shoulder at the picture. James Novak. The license hadn’t even expired yet. The man would have been thirty-eight soon. “Did they know him? I never thought about asking Jen about it…”

“Nah, not Jensen. Well, he might have put it together, but Jimmy and Jared, they were stepbrothers.”

“No way.”

“Totally.”

“Did you meet him?”

A weird noise from Dean. He jammed the card back into the wallet and slipped it into his pocket. “Yeah, no. He was dead already. Killed himself. Maybe…maybe I shouldn’t say anything to Jared. No wonder he’s so overprotective, though, huh?”

If it was a question Sam was supposed to answer, he didn’t have enough information to give one.

But it was obvious Dean was rattled. And drunk. Or getting there. He reached for the bottle on the desk, knocked the back of his hand into it and Sam had to lurch forward to catch it. Another noise from Dean, who was now peering over his shoulder at Sam holding the bottle, touching Dean at arm and hip.

It was as if Sam had gotten used to his brother’s scent, tuned it out, been distracted from the rising tide of it, and he was suddenly drowning, the surface no longer in sight. Sinking, pressed on all sides and filled inside by the _heatsweatsweethoney_ of it, of _Dean_ , the right thing to do seemed to be to push Dean, bump harder into him, him against the desk, Sam against him, to try to knock more of it loose.

The bottle fell anyway, dropped from Sam’s hands as they favoured Dean’s face instead. Caught him, dug into the point of his jaw and turned him around. Sam’s thumbs swept his throat, seeking life there, fingers tracing the shells of his ears, dipping inside them. Inside. He wanted to be inside Dean, anywhere, everywhere. Thumbs first, leaving blood thrumming through Dean’s veins. Edging nails over Dean’s chin, crushing lips against teeth though Dean would have opened his mouth without the pain, Sam was sure of it. Wet tongue, whiskey-burn saliva that dripped down Sam’s wrists as he cupped Dean’s face and shoved his thumbs into his mouth and held them there. Dean’s eyes closed, and it was so silent in the room Sam promised himself he could hear Dean’s lashes hit heavy against his cheeks.

Neither was breathing; Sam because he was afraid of too much, of bursting his chest, of not being able to control the want of everything about Dean. Breathe him in, swallow him down, consume him utterly, and he felt certain that was why Dean had gone still but for the spit trickling from his lips, wetting Sam’s thighs through his jeans. If Dean moved, shifted, breathed, looked, Sam would never recover.

But something had to give, and it was Dean. Sam felt his jaw shake, teeth scrape on Sam’s knuckles. Then Dean leaned forward, let Sam’s thumbs inside his mouth to the webbing. Wrapped his lips around them and sucked as he pulled off, wiping up his drool with his lips and tongue, throat clicking as he swallowed. He pulled off, left his mouth open. His eyes now, too. Gorgeous brown and glittering, wavering, shy, until he gave that up too and settled on Sam’s eyes.

Sam couldn’t look away, even though there was so much begging his attention: those soft lips, damp and full, and the pink tongue behind them flicking and rolling on the roof of Dean’s mouth as he sucked and drank down the taste of Sam. His throat, pale from captivity, freckled like his ears and cheeks and nose, those lips. And Sam was thumbing them again, tracing curves and bows and smearing spit and flesh and he flicked his nails against Dean’s teeth, offered him a chance to bite, to defend himself and when he didn’t, Sam kissed him.

Fingers still there at first; Sam was too shocked to move them and again it was Dean who shifted. Tilted his head and ran his tongue over sharp edges until Sam figured it out, and his hands went to Dean’s neck again. Circled it, squeezed, made Dean’s tongue slip deeper into him, then met it with his own.

The desk shuddered, jumped an inch when Sam banged himself against Dean. Dean could have sat but instead let himself be bent back, let Sam hold him up with collared hands and let himself be kissed and it was so good, so right and perfect and they’d both had practice, hadn’t they?

Eyes still open, Sam saw Dean frown, pained, felt Dean’s mouth go slack and submissive, and the pulse beneath his palm should have been wild, thrilled, horrified. But it wasn’t. Steady and strong as if this were no big thing, something Dean was designed to do. Sam’s grip slipped, withdrew, and Dean had to slap one hand on the desk to keep himself upright. His other hand grabbed Sam’s wrist, kept it on his skin as he broke their kiss. Those eyes again, sad and exhausted and glazed and he lifted Sam’s hand to his face, pressed his mouth into Sam’s palm.

“Dean, I’m sorry. I couldn’t. I, I.” God, Sam wanted to kiss him again, keep kissing him, put his fingers back in his mouth, and his tongue, then his cock, and what couldn’t he do? Stop himself, deny himself, keep his goddamn hands to himself? Couldn’t ask Dean what he wanted, what he was feeling, what he needed.

“Dean—”

Mouth wet-hot silk against Sam’s palm, Dean said, “Please, Sammy, don’t do this to me. I can’t, I can’t tell you no, and I don’t know why I want to say yes, and I need to know, okay? I need to understand this and I can’t right now. I haven’t been able to figure anything out for, for _months._ I can’t fucking _think_. I just. I just want. Want.”

“Okay, Dean.” Sam forced the sounds soft, used all his will to keep from making up Dean’s mind for him. Sam knew what _he_ wanted. To drag Dean to his knees, to the floor. Taste his mouth again, get his teeth on Dean’s skin. Strip him and cover him with his own body—

Dean laughed. Sobbed? A frustrated growl, and he leaned into Sam and ground his forehead against Sam’s shoulder. Lightly, not wanting Dean to feel trapped, Sam put his arms around his brother. Another noise and Dean spoke.

“This shit, what they did to me… I’m not right. I’m not who I am and, and you’re all messed up too, huh? Just being around that kid fucked you all up. Maybe you should have just left us there.”

“No. God, Dean. No, I couldn’t do that.”

And without thinking, Sam put one hand on Dean’s head. Let it drift by instinct to the back of his neck. Stroked thumb and forefinger down either side of Dean’s spine, and, okay, maybe he was a little messed up because his cock throbbed as Dean whimpered. He was hard already, and Dean was too; Sam knew it because Dean came away from the desk and collapsed against him, wobbling from the pressure and still he bucked, used what strength he had to grind himself against Sam’s hip.

Another cry through clenched teeth and Sam thought about holding him there, keeping him tight against his own body and he knew he could come from just this. The weight and heat and shuddering of Dean against him, and he knew Dean wouldn’t. Couldn’t come. Just like Jensen needed his Alpha to bring him to orgasm, Dean was now the same.

“ _Sam._ Stop, stop, please, god, don’t—”

Begging. God, he wanted Dean to beg. But for him, wanting him, needing him. That wasn’t what this was. Oh god.

He dropped his hand from Dean’s neck and grabbed his arm instead, lifted him upright and stepped back and that was the hardest thing he’d ever done in his life right there, but he kept hold of Dean until he was sure Dean had his feet under him. Dean swayed, eyes almost closed. He scrabbled behind him, felt for the desk and backed into it, away from Sam. Away. Dean had been so far away until just hours ago. Days, months, more than a year. Away from Sam and right next to him in a way, because it had been the same for him.

“Are you going to go to him?” Sam had to ask. He needed to know.

“N-no. _No_. I. I-I’m going into Bobby’s room and moving that big dresser in front of the door. No offense. Just, like, yell if the house catches on fire or whatever, okay?” Dean said the words to the floor, so Sam couldn’t quite convince himself it was the truth.

Sam nodded, just to make Dean raise his eyes for the answer. Still such a shock, those dark dark eyes, the shiny specks like black tourmaline dancing back the low light. Dean took a step, turned to go and Sam couldn’t have that, not yet. He reached for Dean. Didn’t touch, but made sure Dean saw what he was doing and what he wanted, which was for Dean to stop. To not move away.

He got what he wanted. He could get everything he wanted if he tried hard enough. Demanded it, but Dean was right. It wouldn’t be because it was what Dean wanted. Still.

“Can you stay? With me. Just for a little while. Just talk,” Sam assured when Dean bit his lip. “Anything. What happened, or, or I could tell you—”

“Yeah, Sam. Okay. Just go over there.” Dean pointed to the couch. The far side, and he waited until Sam retreated and settled before moving to the opposite side of the desk and reclaiming his chair. He brought the knocked-over bottle with him, and Sam let him have it to himself.

And Sam had to prompt Dean, had to scramble for innocuous questions to keep his brother talking. To keep him. Asked him about the food, but found it was hard for Dean to concentrate on that, and he was so thin now that Sam had the time to really see him. Asked about cars, and listened to Dean grumble emphatically. Asked about this Charlie girl Dean had befriended, and here Dean talked the longest without being encouraged. Even smiled again, met Sam’s eyes and said Sam would have thought she was cool. Both giant nerds, he said.

Then he went quiet, his expression troubled, clouded.

“What is it?” Sam asked.

It was late now, dark outside. And except for Dean’s fidgeting and the house settling into sleep around them, it was silent. No noise from down the hall where Jensen and Jared had disappeared. The lights were off and Sam knew Dean wanted it that way, that he found the diffused bluish light coming in from the junkyard comforting. This semi-darkness was his natural habitat, was how Sam knew him best. Perpetual motel parking lot lights coming in through broken shades and threadbare curtains spilling across Dean’s sleeping face. That face grinning and glaring at Sam in the backsplash of the Impala’s headlights, a flash of brilliance, lit up by passing cars whose high beams made supernovas of Dean’s eyes.

Those eyes were mercurial, threatening surface tension as they jumped back to and away from Sam. “I just…I threw her under the bus, Sam. I was so stuck on ending Alastair that I used her, not even giving a shit that she might get in trouble. And fuck, now I don’t even know what happened to her. There’s a dead body and her key card that got me in there and, and it’s not just a dead body, it’s her, her _Alpha_. And it’s fucked up there, you know? They have all these laws and punishments for omegas that do shit wrong but Alphas get away with, with violence and. And abuse. And an omega has almost no say in anything. She probably is going to get blamed for the whole thing with no one else there to suspect. She’ll get locked up. Or, or fucking put down like an animal. Or she already has been, ’cause the fucking time weirdness, and you know what? I didn’t even think about _him_. About Jared.”

Sam said nothing. He was guilty of the same thing.

“I was just gonna leave him there,” Dean said, his voice tumbling, rising, echoing Jared’s own grief from earlier. Sam had heard the words because he had followed Jensen to his Alpha. Worried about him, afraid.

“There wasn’t any other _way_ , Sam!” Dean cried, as if Sam needed convincing. “He didn’t know. You, you might have figured out something different, a better way. You always do that. So fucking smart. I just fucking wanna kill stuff and it’s stupid but it’s the only thing I’m good at and you’re the one with the brain and the plans and I tried. I tried to think, what would Sam do? What would he want me to do? But it was so fucking hard, Sammy.” And Dean was drunk by now, or something like it. He’d lost the glass somewhere and was pouring straight from the bottle into his mouth and his fist choked around the neck was wet with what he spilled. He lapped at his mess after his next drink.

“No,” Sam said.

Dean hunched his shoulders and sucked at the liquor between his fingers.

Sam tried again. “I mean, I know, Dean. I—”

“Sam, I pretended he was you. I _had_ to. If I didn’t—if I thought I was there forever and never gonna see you again, I was gonna fucking die. Something had to die, you know?”

Dean left no room for Sam to reply and it was a good thing because Sam was stunned, speechless, unsure if he wanted to know this. But Dean wasn’t going to stop on his own, apparently.

“It couldn’t be you. Him. Maybe I thought ’cause you survived on your own without me that he could, that he’d be fine. Yeah. Yeah. Okay. But I pretended he was you because I needed you, Sam. Need you. And you know, I’m sitting here with you now and I can’t fucking separate you. I want you to be _him_ and that’s so fucked up. I’m so fucked up, Sammy. And I would have left him and never would’ve stopped thinking about him ’cause you. You’re right there and you’re him and when I, when I had to. I _had to_ , Sam. Had to do what I did, I couldn’t even be me and he was still you and now I feel like the only way I can sort this shit out is to be me and you but I _can’t_. I’m fucked up, Sammy—”

“Jesus christ, Dean. Stop, okay? It’s okay. I get it. I do.”

Dean blurted out a sardonic laugh. “Yeah, you do. You get it. I see you and that kid. Fuckin’ pretty little mini-me, huh? I know what, what happened. The way you smell. Fucking orange creamsicle, you and him together. And you fucking want me the same way, huh, little brother? Which means you thought about it, prob’ly even pretended with him, huh?”

Sam didn’t look away from Dean, kept his body still. It wasn’t something he needed to answer because Dean would believe what he wanted, no matter the truth. And it was the truth, anyway. Proof of that happened by the desk a quarter of a bottle of whiskey ago.

“I wanted you to be him. Him to be you. Whatever, because it was easier to deal with the idea of my own brother fucking me than, than a monster. What kind of monster does that make me, Sam?”

“It doesn’t,” Sam replied, but Dean didn’t hear him.

“And he’s not even a real monster! Not even that bad, but, but I still wanted you more, thought it made it okay because no one would ever know but there’s no hiding shit like this. Like. An omega. Everything’s _right there._ Scent and, and being _obedient_. And it all got fucking tangled up. He bit me. You know? Jensen knew. He said he could smell it on me. In me. That my body and blood are different now. Maybe forever. Said we both belong to Jared. But I’ve always been yours, Sam. I felt like I was going to forget you, Sammy. I couldn’t do that, couldn’t let the drugs take you away from me, so I kept you right where I could see you. In him. Even when it got easier, when I let him fuck me so I didn’t have to take drugs and I could keep things straight, I let it go on, mixing you two up and now. Now I’m fucked up in the head and my heart fucking hurts and I don’t know what the fuck to do.”

Dean might as well have been sleep-talking, in a waking dream. A nightmare. His eyes were closed, his head back against the cushion of the chair. The thumb-plugged bottle was caught between his leg and the armrest and Sam could see darkness between Dean’s spread thighs, like Dean had pissed himself, but Sam knew that wasn’t the case. Could smell the difference. Soaking through his jeans. Slick, honey-thick and warm and so much of it, and Sam knew what to do. He knew how to make Dean know the difference between his brother and the Alpha.

When Sam cast a shadow across his face, Dean opened his eyes. Opened his mouth. His legs, and Sam held his breath or he wasn’t going to be able to help himself. He put his hand out. When Dean didn’t move, just kept staring, daring, inviting, Sam leaned down and took the bottle away. Set it on the floor and took Dean by the wrist. He thought he saw Dean wince at the pressure, but Dean stood when he pulled, followed when he backed up and let go, and stayed still as Sam circled him. Began to herd him towards the stairs.

“Go to sleep, Dean,” Sam said when he had Dean with only one direction to go.

“Yeah. Okay, Sammy.” But he stood there on the first step, just a little taller than Sam now and once upon a time for years and years, that had been Sam’s world: looking up at Dean. Sam put his hand out, on Dean’s chest, pressed to feel his heartbeat. To push him away while still wanting him to stay, and Dean must’ve felt the same. He leaned into Sam’s hand, lowered his head and Sam thought, hoped, that Dean was going to kiss him this time.

Instead, Sam held them balanced there for another long moment, then Dean turned and started up the stairs.

Dean paused once in his ascent, glanced back. Maybe to see if Sam was following him. But he was still at the bottom, and Dean was near the top.

“G’night, Dean.”

“Night, little brother.”


	5. Chapter 5

Dean woke up in heat.

It wasn’t a surprising thing. He’d known it was coming; Alastair had practically been foaming at the mouth about it. His own sense of smell was disgustingly heightened. What had been an inconsequential tomato soup odor in Bobby’s room when Dean had first slipped inside—and, true to his word, shoved the dresser against the locked door—was now like someone had dumped a post-food-fight school cafeteria mop bucket on his head. Dean gagged and tossed himself off the bed, going to his hands and knees in the darkness before he could throw up on the old man’s cheap, washed-soft sheets.

He felt sick, feverish. Like his bones were charbroiled and his blood was made of fire ants. He shivered on the floor, swallowed convulsively against the urge to heave. The clothes he’d passed out in seemed made out of fiberglass, itchy and constricting and just _in the way._ Dean wanted a shower. No, he wanted the cold Pacific up around his neck. Wanted to float away on it and find some deserted island where he could roll around naked and careless and where he wouldn’t feel that constant tingle at the back of his skull. That old friend of a sensation that told him the hunter was being hunted.

It contrasted uncomfortably with the weight and warmth and wet between his legs that announced his willingness to be caught. He was so hard he felt numb there, dick trapped sideways in his jeans and he hoped it was just sweat all up his belly when he reached in to adjust himself. It wasn’t. He was covered in his own slick up to his wrist when he pulled his hand from his waistband.

_Fucking great. That’s just great._

And that reminded him of Sam. As if he needed a reminder. Mostly, it broke through his defenses, the ones he’d built while trying to get sleep (he’d only dozed, really). He let them crumble, hadn’t the strength or energy to maintain them. Or the concentration. Anything and everything was making him hot—hotter, how was that even possible?

Sam’s name, even just the first consonant, that breathy hiss, that sigh that hadn’t _ever_ been anything but longing Dean could admit to the floor as his mouth ran wet, sick with the unfinished word. The almost-sound brought his brother’s face to mind and _that_ , oh, that wasn’t any good at all, what Dean’s body just did, tensed up from balls to throat, his cock gushing anew, warm amidst the air-chilled mess already there. And the vision he snapped his eyes shut against (as if that would help) doubled up. Sam became two and of course he knew who the other was and there was no one there to see Dean shudder, to witness the arch of his back and the way his knees slipped wide as if assuming the position would trick his heat into ebbing even a modicum.

“Dean?”

He scrambled up, searching the darkness for the intruder. Sight and scent told him he was indeed alone. Then he heard a faint scratching at the door.

“Dean?” he heard again, and for a moment he wondered at being crazy once more, but he hadn’t ever heard his own voice, so that was something reassuring. Kinda.

“Jensen, what do you want?” Dean croaked, the vibration thunder in his head. God, fuck being so _fragile_.

“Are you okay?” The words were an exaggerated whisper.

That was good, meant the other two were asleep, but why oh why did everyone keep asking him if he was okay? Dean rolled his eyes. That felt great, and he couldn’t control the urge to stretch every last muscle in his body, groaning too-loud and pretty fucking obscenely as he did.

The door rattled again. “Let me in.”

“Oh, uh-uh,” Dean panted but who was driving this thing, anyway? The stretch had him high and loose, lightheaded, not thinking, obviously, because even as he denied Jensen entrance, he was pushing the dresser with his hip. Popped the door open, but he remembered to set his foot against it. Just in case.

Jensen was alone in the hallway, wearing a pair of thin blue pajama bottoms and a tattered dark grey hoodie, unzipped, bare-chested under it. The light seeping up the stairs from the kitchen behind him put him in shadow, but his eyes sucked up what won past the hood. They sparkled like the stars in the oval void of his face.

“Hey,” Jensen said, his fingers curling around the door frame so Dean couldn’t close it without hurting him. “I brought you water.” He shook a bottle in his other hand, but made no move to hand it through the slotted door.

“Thanks, kid,” Dean said. He didn’t reach for it, but some of the tension in him eased when he sensed Jensen smile. “What?”

“That’s what Sam calls me too. You can let me in, Dean. I’m not going to hurt you.”

He was sincere about it. And Dean didn’t want to be alone anymore. Jensen wasn’t quite right, made Dean’s skin sort of buzz-hot as the omega slipped in the room with the lightest of pressure against Dean’s hold on the door. But what he wanted, what was war-drum fierce in the back of his mind, beating heady and powerful in his body, was what he shouldn’t want and had fought against.

 _Who_.

But Dean couldn’t be alone, so he let Jensen in and endured the midsummer sun of him passing close, and why didn’t he move back? Dean just stood still. The omega leaned against the door until it snicked shut. He stayed there, right _there_ , breathing Dean’s breath, clouding the room with his sweetcream scent.

The drumming was hard enough to break skin, and Dean shivered to release some of the energy.

“It’s okay, Dean,” Jensen hummed, touched him. Hand to Dean’s arm, nails down his scorched flesh. Jensen wrapped his fingers around Dean’s wrist and twitched his arm. “C’mon, lie back down.”

Dean shook his head, mute, tongue plastered to the roof of his mouth.

Jensen considered him for a second, then nodded. “Don’t like it in here, huh? Don’t blame you. Betas can be hard to be around when you’re in heat.”

“I’m not,” Dean managed, throat desert-dry. He reached for the water Jensen was holding but found he didn’t care to remove his other hand from Jensen’s grip to open it. He just stood there, in denial.

Jensen’s now-free hand pressed against Dean’s crotch, smeared saturated material against his sensitive skin and that got him moving. He jumped back, bent away, but Jensen just followed him. Still holding his wrist.

“You are, though. _It’s okay_ , Dean. Lemme help you.”

“What? No. Just, w—n-no.”

Jensen sighed, trailing Dean as he backstepped to the bed. Dean grimaced as he hit it, glared down over his shoulder and shook his head like it was something to be scolded.

A tug on his wrist again. “Come downstairs with me. We’ll get you some clean clothes, at least. Or do you just want me to go?”

The thought of himself up here alone made him want to cry and what the fuck was that about? “No,” he admitted. But, “Sam. Uh, he’s down there—”

“He’s not, actually. I think he’s in the basement. There’s a cot in that weird dungeon.”  
  
“Oh.” Lame on his tongue, but it was all Dean had. “Okay.”

Jensen smiled, and Dean could see it now in the lights from outside the window. It was kind, and patient, and Jensen’s face was bruised. More than it had been. Dark spots at his jaw, little crescent nail rips frosting the tops of two of the bruises, a cherry-juice stain near his left eye. Dean’s hands were busy so he stepped in closer, ducked to see better. Then Dean’s own fingers were spaced evenly beside Jared’s fingerprints and Jensen still had his wrist, had brought Dean’s hand to his face.

“Why?”

“That’s what we do, Dean. You know that.”

He did, and the wrist Jensen wasn’t holding twinged, agreeing. But how did Jensen _know_ that? God, Dean’s life was on display for everyone, wasn’t it? He couldn’t hide anything. Not that he wanted to hide. No, what Dean wanted was to rip off these sticky clothes and track the scent Jensen had dragged in with him to its source ( _sources_ ).

He could not do that. Would not. But he couldn’t be alone.

He followed Jensen from the room, led by his wrist. Down the stairs, and he caught a glimpse of the clock in the kitchen. Two hours and some after midnight and Dean was so, so tired all at once. Jensen must have felt him wobble, heard the weak grunt he made when his bones dissolved and he just about went down in a puddle on the library floor.

Wrist was exchanged for waist, Jensen’s arm around Dean propelling him to the couch. He’d rather be in the chair because the couch was where Sammy had been sitting and it was all orange peel and cinnamon sticks and the _real_ problem was that it was wonderful. Dean could finally pull in a full breath, two, three. Too many too big and he was lightheaded again and tipped over on his side across the cushions. Jensen was gone and back, quick and silent and he had boxers and a thin, clean sheet in hand.

When Jensen stripped him, Dean did nothing to help, fighting a much more important battle with unconsciousness. Did nothing to stop him, either, and wasn’t scandalized when the boxers turned out to be a ruse. He was still hard. Jensen didn’t so much ignore it as treat it gently, warning Dean with a slow touch towards it when he wiped Dean down with his own tee shirt, wet from the bottle Dean had forgotten about.

He was cleaned of slick and tucked in and Jensen was still petting him, using another damp edge of the tee shirt to drag cool over Dean’s face, neck, his shoulders. Edged the sheet down and swiped at his chest and then there were fingers on him, grazing him lightly at first. Jensen wasn’t looking at Dean. Watching his own fingers curve around muscles and trace along bones, Jensen petted him softly, then with more force when Dean’s only acknowledgment of it was a low moan.

“Nice, huh? It’s cruel biology to use pain as sexual motivation, but effective. Me and Charlie used to do this for each other. Not sex, just touching. Not a lot of options at the Inn. Not nice options, anyway. I was always in heat, it seemed like. Charlie took care of me like this. Do you like it?”

“Yeah.”

He did. He liked it and he liked Jensen and he liked not being alone. His hand escaped from his cocoon and went to rest on Jensen’s arm. Jensen looked down at it, traced it back to Dean’s body, up to his shoulder. His gaze came to rest on the dark mess of scars there, just along the edge of his neck. He touched them and Dean gasped.

“Those felt good, too, didn’t they? Made it so you belong to him. We both do. Kind of like brothers now, too, aren’t we?”

Kind of, Dean had to admit, though he couldn’t answer. Couldn’t move. Jensen’s fingers were digging into Jared’s scars. His claim on Dean. He belonged with Jared right now, if not to him. No, never that. Sam owned him, but Jared had something Dean needed so much right now.

“He wants you, Dean,” Jensen murmured, stroking Dean’s face. “I can do this, but it’s nothing like what he can do. I’ll stay right with you if you want me to. You don’t have to be alone with him. Are you afraid of him? Or that you’ll forget that you’re home?”

Maybe. Yes. “Why do you care?” Dean asked, barely a sound.

“Because I want him to be happy. He’s not. He told me; he’s done almost nothing else but talk about you. He wants to take care of you. To make up for what happened. Will you let him?”

Dean shook his head, arching weakly into Jensen’s palms on his chest. He heard Jensen shuffle closer, bump up against the couch. He’d closed his eyes and Jensen’s lips on his startled him. He thought about protesting, but the kiss was there and gone. An apparition.

“Shh, it’s okay,” Jensen noised, breath powdered sugar on Dean’s cheek. “Thank you. Thank you for bringing him to me. For letting him love you so much he followed you here. I know that’s what happened. He couldn’t let you go. I don’t mind. It’s the same way with Sam. He loves you so much there almost wasn’t room for me, but I don’t care. I’ll share; I _want_ to. I want them to have what they want. They want you, Dean.”

“Jensen, stop,” Dean slurred, then whimpered when hands and breath and closeness disappeared. “Uh. N-no, I mean. Don’t—” Dean reached out blindly, caught Jensen’s neck and pulled. In and down, back to his mouth. To shut him up.

Jensen came to him, kissed lightly until Dean’s lips opened, wanting something, anything, inside him and Jensen’s tongue and his saliva were enough. Tasted like that sweet white drink from the taco carts in southern California, and Jensen let Dean lick it from his mouth, suck it from his tongue. Mouths together, Jensen’s hand on Dean’s chest, it wasn’t enough. Dean pulled, grabbed handfuls of clothes and yanked and Jensen came then, too. Rose up and lowered himself onto Dean’s body. Worked a thigh between his legs and his arms around Dean and it was so good, too hot, not right, but it was something and Dean couldn’t have nothing and Jensen was offering him everything.

“Go to Sam if Jared scares you,” Jensen said, lips brushing Dean’s eyelashes, his forehead, holding still as Dean ground his hips up restlessly, pushing against Jensen. “He’ll know what to do. He took care of me. Was so good to me, Dean. Fucked me just right. Licked me open and held me down. Hurt me when I needed it. He made me come. I want to show you that, how he did it. He fucked me for days, just like a real Alpha. He’s just like Jared and you know how that is, how strong he is, how hard and big. Fuck, they’re so big, Dean, so fucking big inside you, huh?”

He did know. Jared was huge, thick and long and had fit inside Dean’s body with no room to spare but the Alpha’s knot had _made_ room, stretched Dean wide and painful and perfect and Dean had loved it and begged for it, gotten on his knees and said _Please, Alpha, give it to me_ and just the memory of it had Dean aching inside with want.

He wanted Sam. He wanted his brother here right now, wanted what this creature on him had been brave enough to take when Dean had been a coward, had run from and fought—no, that was Jared, but it was all the same right now and Dean was getting lost in Jensen’s kisses, his scent. Jensen was hard and trickling slick that Dean could taste in the air, feel on his fingertips as he shoved his hands under Jensen’s clothes and cupped his ass, held him down just so he could thrust hard, have his own cock slip along the omega’s. It should feel weird, this twin of his in his arms, on him, kissing him. It should, but Dean didn’t care, and it was easy. They were so much the same, kissed the same, moaned alike, wanted accordingly.

“I can bring them,” Jensen hummed, as if he could read Dean’s thoughts. Easier than that. He knew, because he was the same. “Sam was so worried about you. He would love to have you close to him right now. You want him, too. I can feel it, get so hot just thinking about him. He can cool you down. You don’t need to feel like this, baby. Sam can make it better. He’s so sweet. Jared is, too. He really is, but I don’t know if you could take him like this. He’s used to being rough with me. But maybe he’d be gentle with you. Is that what you want? Would you like that?”

Dean didn’t know. Sam or Jared, gentle or savage. Both. Neither.

“You can fuck me,” Dean breathed, then blushed ( _god so hot on fucking fire_ ) when Jensen laughed, lip-bitten and excited.

“No, baby. Trust me, you don’t want that.”

“Why not?” He ducked back when Jensen tried to kiss him again.

“I’m not what you need. This is as good as it gets with me and it still hurts, doesn’t it?”

It being Dean, his body, brain, bones, balls, and yeah, he still fucking hurt. Like flu ache, muscle cramp, migraine hurt. Jensen was butter to a burn, but the wound was still there.

“Just…try?” Maybe, _maybe_ it would be different, whatever Jensen thought would be wrong. Maybe he could stay here with his twin and work this out of his system without betraying the way he’d lived his entire life.

Fine, whatever, he’d fucked Jared to get home. He’d enjoyed it. He’d wished and pretended it was Sam sometimes…a lot, but so what. That was then, some other time and place and he was home now, and he could go back to the way it was, the way he wanted it to be. Him and Sam, family. Brothers. And brothers didn’t _do_ this, what he wanted to do right now. God, fuck, he did want it, didn’t he? But it was just the heat, just his fucked-up body driving him towards incest and ruination and if there was any way to get around that, he wanted to try.

Dean clawed at the sheet wrapping his waist and Jensen was laughing again, shushing him and helping, lifting the sheet, bunching it up instead of untangling it. And when Dean’s legs were free he opened them, bent his knees and splayed himself wide for Jensen when he stood and began to strip.

There was a dark stain at the front of Jensen’s pajamas and Dean felt more than a little smug to have gotten the omega slick. The pants dropped, then Jensen shucked off the hoodie and when he bent in, nuzzled along Dean’s thigh, it was impossible not to touch him. Pet him like he’d been petting Dean. Fuck, just get his hands on someone, hold onto warm skin and hard muscles and is this what he felt like, really? He wouldn’t say perfect (out loud), but it was nice. Broad shoulders and smooth flesh with just a little give over sturdy bones and jumping muscles, that nice slope down the back of his neck to his spine. All lit up in the moonlight.

Dean touched as far as he could, stretching his fingers out, trying for the rise and flare of his hips and ass. He’d already had that in his hands and now Jensen did too, had his thumbs tucked in the crease of Dean’s ass. He pulled, stretched Dean wide and _fuckfuck_ he felt so empty there, clenching down on nothing and he knew what that looked like, had seen enough wet pussies and ready-lubed assholes just waiting for him to be inside. It was almost embarrassing to be the one so eager.

Dean jammed his hand between his legs, wanting to explore it. Jensen moved to let him, lapping at the back of Dean’s hand like a puppy, pushing his nose up under Dean’s swollen-tender sac and nursing at the tip of his thumb when he spread his fingers around the ring of his strawberry-soft hole, slick honey-thick and so slippery there. Exploring cautiously. He didn’t know if he would be sore, bruised-feeling maybe. It seemed like he should be with how swollen he was, but no, he was loose and numb and the tips of two fingers were swallowed up easily. Weird, too easy and soaking and Dean wanted something more, bigger, wanted to _feel_.

He was ready to ask fucking nicely but Jensen wasn’t going to make him. Yeah, he definitely could like this kid. And then Jensen’s tongue was there, prying between his fingers, wriggling inside. Dean yelped. It _burned_.

Jensen hummed against him and twisted Dean’s hand away, pinned it down, held him from scrambling up the couch. He swirled slick, licked it from his thumbs just to spit it back out, drool it onto Dean’s hole. Sealed his mouth over Dean, sucking hard, pulling tender flesh between his teeth just to shove his tongue in deep and force saliva and slick mixed back inside Dean. It was like salt in a wound.

“Fuck, god, stop!”

“See, I _told_ you,” Jensen teased, nipped the words into Dean’s shaking thigh. “Biology. We’re both omegas. I can’t make this better for you. Only an Alpha can. _Your_ Alpha.”

“ _Fuck_.” Dean hurt. God, like a coal up inside him and Jensen was licking him again, cat-scratch tongue and hot-oil saliva. He tried to get away, to shake Jensen off but the omega had him pinned, wrist and thigh. And if he needed to prove his point, it was fucking done.

“ _Please_ _stop_.”

“Just say it, Dean. Say the word, just see how it feels.” Jensen’s hellfire mouth was kissing at the base of his cock and Dean sensed the threat there, but he’d risk discomfort rather than give in to this fucked-up lust he was forced to feel.

“Jen-Jensen, no, I-I can’t—”

“You can, you just _won’t_. Why not? They both love you. Would die for you. Jared almost did and Sam already has, hasn’t he? You can’t give him what he wants after that? You don’t want to feel that from him?”

If Dean had a reason ( _an excuse_ ) it went out of his head when Jensen slid his mouth over Dean’s cock. The pain was instantaneous and searing. He drew breath to cry out, but then _they_ might hear, so he gagged around it. His cock was swallowed down the furnace of Jensen’s throat and _fuckohfuck_ it fit perfectly, made for it. Dean had come through pain before and Jensen fucking knew that, he had to, and if Dean could’ve right then he’d have filled his twin’s mouth. He couldn’t, and Jensen knew that too, but he was relentless and Dean whined his scream instead.

The pressure disappeared. Jensen was breathing Dean’s own slick at him, and his eyes were ruby-spark and half-glaring as he hissed at him.

“Don’t you want to come, Dean? I do. So bad. And I have my pick of who can make me and you’ve got no one because you’re afraid. You don’t have to be. They want you, they love you.” Jensen clapped his hand across Dean’s mouth like he knew Dean was going to protest. “Go be with them. Say it, Dean. Say it. You’ll know I’m right.”

Dean had to do _something_. He was hurting and delirious and Jensen was too strong. Dean whined again. He didn’t want to hear about love. This wasn’t love. It wasn’t anything but need, and it was destroying him.

“Alpha,” he moaned when Jensen lifted his hand.

Jensen was so right.

Instant relief. Dean’s stomach flipped pleasantly and his spine untwisted. He felt slick gush from him, rinsing the omega’s bleach-burn spit away. The word hushed through Dean’s brain, dismissed inhibitions. Consciousness narrowed, crowded to center taboo ideas and lolling instincts and made it easy to desire what he’d shunned.

Dean sighed the word again, the air he breathed in cool and clean. Even Jensen’s nearness, his face tucked against Dean’s neck, chests together, the omega’s cock settled and throbbing in the hollow of Dean’s hip. None of that distracted from the undeniable fact there were Alphas near.

_Monster. Little brother._

Yes and no, and it didn’t matter. They were none of the things they should be right now. Everything was flipped on its head, neck broken, recovery doubtful and Dean didn’t know how to fight anymore. Not this. He’d never been good at fighting what was inside him.

“Good boy,” Jensen said, as if he were proud of Dean, as if they’d accomplished something.

Dean wanted to shove him off, punish him for knowing what to do and how to do it efficiently where Dean would have suffered and struggled endlessly. But what he did was roll his head to the side and let Jensen kiss his neck, shoulder, drag his teeth over Jared’s bites and the mockery of it just made him want the real thing so, so bad and it was all too much.

The feeling he’d had when he’d come down the stairs returned, and there was no fighting it this time.


	6. Chapter 6

_Alastair plucked Dean’s veins like guitar strings while Dean wailed the chorus. He’d tried to keep it an instrumental, had managed to mute himself when Alastair had opened the skin of his arm in a neat T, wrong way across the wrist, right up the forearm, peeled it back like cracking the spine of a book. And that had_ **_hurt_** _. This didn’t so much. At least, not enough for Dean’s already shrieking nerves to really register._

 _No, it was the visual horror of seeing Alastair’s fingers pinching and strumming the tight lines of his lifeblood that had Dean lost to it. It was that part of his stupid fucking brain that tried to tell him he could still live through this, the damage wasn’t too bad, he was still intact enough to survive when he_ **_actually fucking knew_ ** _he was screwed. He screamed to shut that hopeful lizard down, get it to catch up, get in on the act. And it was an act. Act one, scene ten thousand, give or take a million. He was fucking dead already, didn’t he_ **_know that_** _? Who was he anyway?_

 _The Dean who’d set up his own execution date so his little brother could come down from the gallows? How about the one who_ ** _barely_ ** _cheated Death because his dad died in his place? The one doomed with a defunct heart some other poor boy had died to renew? Was he shot-in-the-chest Dean, dead and in Heaven? (_ ** _Where’s Sam?_** _) Or was he the walking dead, no brother in sight, on Earth or in paradise?_

_No, wait, he wasn’t any of those, because that Dean, the Dean being flayed and played and now Alastair was pushing on tendons, making his fingers curl and twitch and what was he going to do with those tiny sharp scissors? Oh. …This Dean wasn’t that Dean, and Dean wasn’t even himself. He was something else, ill-defined and single-minded, his body carrying him towards a precipice he would not survive the fall from while his mind was sailing through the stars, stubbornly trying to navigate a way through this clusterfuck as if home wasn’t right here, right now._

_Where he was just as vulnerable and laid open as he was on Alastair’s rack, his skin torn back, his innermost self exposed._

_Fingers inside him, pushing meat and tubes and tissue out of the way, shoving hard and hurting and it felt good, being remade. Turned into something new and someone he didn’t know anymore, at all, ever, never did, and he had been right, years ago._

_He didn’t deserve this, and he couldn’t escape it._

“Dean, wake up. C’mon, baby…”

_Almost the same voice as that other Dean, and how many times had he killed himself now, anyway?_

None of those others had kissed him, though. Placed cool, wet lips over his, tilted his head back with a gentle hand, trickled water into his mouth when he opened it. Jensen’s tongue followed, dipped tentatively into the pool and then away so Dean could swallow. He smiled into the next kiss as Dean leaned up into his mouth again. The water was wonderful, but what had Dean instinctively wanting another kiss was bitten into those lips and that tongue, what Dean tasted in Jensen’s saliva once the water was gone.

Jared. His blood—faint now, thankfully, but still evident. His come, and Dean rubbed his face along Jensen’s cheek, chasing the scent. Jensen was covered in Jared’s sweat and Dean lapped the salt from Jensen’s sweet skin, sucked a mark into the omega’s neck thoughtlessly, half asleep still and nightmare spooked.

Jensen hummed and let Dean do what he wanted, bite and lick the Alpha’s scent from him, but he gasped, a pained little whimper, when Dean nipped at his bottom lip, teeth catching on the puffed corner, hard-bitten and split. Dean tongued at it, tasted Jared there. Sucked. Jensen’s blood burned his tongue, boiled honey. He remembered his own blood being funneled down his throat until it was coming back up, out his eyes and nose and he remembered Jared, and Sam had bled from his eyes too, once.

 _No. No, no, no no nononono_ —

“Baby,” Dean heard again, barely, over the rustle of him cramming himself back against the couch, away from blood and dreams of blood and memories and reality and—

“It’s okay, Dean. No one’s gonna hurt you. You were dreaming. I heard you talking,” Jensen said.

Dean knuckled his eyes. It was still dark. Probably not more than an hour had gone by. Long enough for Jensen to come back with his lip cut from Jared’s teeth, his scent more Jared’s than his own, like he’d been in a storm of the Alpha’s blood and come and sweat, and Dean knew that was because of him. Jensen had brought the scent of Dean’s heat too near Jared and had been taken in his place.

“What did he do to you?” Jensen asked, and Dean blinked, confused. He’d wanted to ask Jensen that same question. Had not wanted to. But that’s not what Jensen meant. “Alastair. Not my Alastair. Yours. Here. I don’t understand what happened and Sam wouldn’t tell me.”

Rasp-throated and aching again, already, still, Dean whispered, “Don’t. You don’t wanna know. And, and I can’t, Jens.” The nickname was accidental, mostly just his body’s uncooperativeness, but he found he liked it. Suited the kid.

“Yeah. Okay. I don’t wanna know what he did to me, either. I kind of know. Some. It doesn’t matter, does it? I’m here now, and I’m safe.”

With that, Jensen crawled up onto the couch and kissed Dean again before Dean could stop him, and did he really want to stop him? He had been dreaming of Alastair and Jensen was so much better than that. Dean hurt, aching and hot again and it had to stop or he was going to freak out and Jensen smelled so good, so much like Jared, and maybe they could figure it out this time, maybe Dean could make do with Jensen if he was careful.

“Watch,” Jensen said and that didn’t make sense at all, but Dean decided it didn’t matter.

The important thing was that Jensen was pulling the sheet from him and that they were both naked and Jensen was dripping precome on him, was messing his hand through Dean’s and stroking his own cock with the mixture. His knuckles brushed the underside of Dean’s cock. He had Dean pinned at the chest, shoulder against his throat and what air Dean could breathe now was heavy with Jared, that howling wilderness that Dean wanted to get lost in. He closed his eyes, his vision sparking like Jensen’s eyes, and he bucked up against Jensen’s hand, that crazy-making light touch more tease than he could take right now.

“It’s gonna hurt,” Jensen murmured, shoved down with his shoulder, securing Dean in place, and it did. Oh, fuck, god oh god, it hurt when Jensen wrapped his fingers around Dean’s dick and cupped it against his own and thrust. Like he’d been flayed there too. He remembered that, and yeah, it wasn’t dissimilar. The difference was he had someone to hold onto now.

Dean groaned, palmed over Jensen’s ribs and hips, as far as he could reach. Biceps then, strong arms, and he felt so good. They both did, they must. Soft skin and hard muscles, nice thick cocks. Doubled up Jensen could barely keep them both in hand as he rutted against Dean, slipped their shafts over and against each other and Dean grabbed his ass and that was great. Felt good to pull Jensen against him, tug him, expose him and Jared’s scent was there too, so strong. Spiked like heroin through Dean’s bloodstream and okay, he knew about that. Just once or twice, a long time ago because he couldn’t stand the loneliness.

“I’ll bring Sam,” Jensen said. Said was too big, whisper was too. This was something he barely wanted Dean to hear. “Let me, Dean, please.”

“He’s my baby brother…” _Alpha. Yes. No, fuck._ “I can’t.” But even the thought, that word, and Dean felt better, the raw burn he was determined to get used to ebbed and he filled Jensen’s palm with slick.

“Why not? You’ve already done it. In your mind. It’s as good as done, isn’t it?”

Dean frowned, pouted against Jensen’s mouth where he was slipping the words in like breath to a drowned man. “You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.”

He felt Jensen smirk. “I might be crazy but I’m not stupid. I can tell. You want him. Want them both.”

“No, I don’t.”

“Wow, you are a terrible liar, Dean Winchester. Fine. But Sam. Sam,” he said, eyes mischievous and Mary-blue in the night. “Sam,” he echoed, pointedly not emphasising the name but it didn’t matter. Dean’s heart was racing and his cock throbbing and his hole clenched pitifully down around nothing at all.

Jensen said the name again and he was slip-sliding against Dean, shocking him over and over and it was never going to work, was going to drive Dean completely insane with need and desperation but he couldn’t do it, couldn’t repeat what Jensen was saying.

“Alpha,” Dean said instead. “Jared.”

Whatever Dean thought was going to happen once the words—those greedy, self-indulgent sounds—flowed so soft and easy from his throat, Jensen being peeled off of him and dropped onto the floor on his knees, _laughing_ as it happened, looking up at Jared looming over them both, was not it. Dean should’ve known. Should’ve realised Jared was right there, waiting in the darkness for Dean to crack. But Dean was not himself. Was something else entirely. Something monstrous and wicked and empty.

“Fuck,” Dean said. “Jared,” he repeated and reached for him. Hands out, like a baby begging to be picked up. Legs open like a whore, bought and ready.

They’d been here before. Not right _here_ , of course, but Dean was done thinking about that. About being where he should be, who he should be, and with the right person. Sam was close. Dean was home. And the omega on the floor with his voyeurist’s grin and the Alpha towering over them both, ruthlessly hard inside a pair of borrowed jeans barely caught on his hips, well. They were here where Dean had wanted to be. Fuck, there was no getting away from Jared now.

And there had been a point when Dean had stopped fighting Jared. No, that wasn’t right. He’d stopped fighting himself, had given himself over to Jared and who Jared wanted him to be. His lover. His omega. Mate, boyfriend, husband, whatever, all of it.

And staring up at Jared right then, Dean finally accepted the game he had played. He’d become Jensen and had turned Jared into Sam, and Dean didn’t have to _do_ that shit anymore. He didn’t have to hide, pretend. It was fucking obvious his brother and Jensen hadn’t devised any fake roles to be able to be together. And Jared— _fuckJaredAlphaneedneedneed_ —knew who Dean was now and here he was, waiting as patiently as his biology allowed for Dean to stop fucking around and imagining there was another way through this. That there _needed_ to _be_ another way.

“Jared. Please.”

“Please what, Dean?”

His name. _His_. Coming from this man’s mouth, fucking _finally_. And that was it. That’s all it took for the filaments to fry in Dean’s brain. Blessed silence and blackness and Dean had never, ever been afraid of the dark. It was where he felt the most alive, the most free, and Jared was giving that to him now with just his name.

“Don’t be mean, Jared,” Jensen said, and he risked getting between them, rising and being the one to take Dean’s hands. “Will you come with me now?” he asked Dean, pulling gently and there was one last flicker of doubt. Of course there was. Doubt…okay, _fear_.

Dean wanted Jared. _Bad_. And he could finally be Dean again and want Jared…but was he really Dean? He was an omega in heat and his Alpha was right there, waiting for him and this was _not_ who he was. But the omega mind, the need and desire, was so strong, was terrible and wanton and what if he lost himself in it? What if he never recovered from this? What if he  _was_ the same as this creature drawing him up off the couch and down the hall, Jared behind them like an unrelenting shadow, herding them the same way Sam had maneouvered Dean up the stairs earlier?

Oh god, _Sam_.

The room reeked of him. Salt and iron and sweat. Bittersweet orange, peppered and warm. Dean remembered Sam coming home from grade school and showing him that if an orange peel was twisted near an open flame, the oil mist would ignite, and his baby brother was not what he wanted to be thinking about right now.

As if Dean could avoid the thought.

Jared had only been waiting until Dean had no escape, it seemed. The Alpha moved like a conqueror, battle-scarred and confident, coming to claim his prize. If Jensen hadn’t had his arms around Dean’s ribs, his chest pressed to his back, Dean would have gone down on soft legs at Jared’s approach, and for one second Jared could have been Sam. And for that second Dean wanted him to be. Then Jared was too close to be anyone else.

“Alpha,” Jensen sighed in Dean’s ear, a compulsion that Dean echoed, and Jared smiled like the waxing moon, sharp and bright, and Dean felt himself passed from his twin to his Alpha like a gift.

It was a nightmare. A daydream and back again. Dean closed his eyes and gave into it, and his fantasies burst through the scorched earth of his psyche and blossomed with horrifying clarity behind his eyes when Jared kissed him, so hard it should have ended in blood. Dean’s aching body took flight, free of pain except where Jared had him gripped, tourniquet tight around his biceps and Dean was glad Jared was always forceful and rough and demanding. Dean knew what to do with that, how to act. What his role was.

He went down easy when Jared pushed. Eyes closed, hands on Jared’s body to guide him, Dean dropped to his knees, stripping the jeans from Jared’s hips as he went. Dean half considered Jensen would join him, but he remained standing, bumping knees and cock against Dean’s back as Jared pulled Jensen in to kiss him as well. There were words between the kisses and Dean could imagine what they were, didn’t bother listening. They would be of love and reassurance, commands and admonitions. It wasn’t Dean’s job to worry about that.

The jeans fell, kicked away, and Dean smeared his lips along the polished stone of Jared’s cock, grazed it with his teeth because Jared liked that sometimes, and he did now, inhaled deathbed desperate and spread his legs. Getting his mouth around that fat, heavy cock was finally coming down after a bad trip, morphine after a gunshot wound. Dean whined as he did it, muffled and pathetic in his own ears, but he didn’t fucking care anymore. He put his hands on Jared, wrapped them around the base of the Alpha’s dick, feeling that slight swell where the knot would form and Dean’s body gave one last twinge, shivered from the nape of his neck, down his spine, to the empty place inside this knot would fill, then he gave over to the excitement. Lust and need and it was candy coated with something Dean refused to listen to, look at.

“Dean,” he heard and looked up.

Jared was splashed in darkness and bruised light and Dean could still smell his blood, and fuck, what if he’d _died_? The idea of him still and lifeless made tears spring into Dean’s eyes, made his mouth watery around Jared. He put his hands to Jared’s hips and pulled him in, blinked back more tears when Jared’s cock jammed into his throat. There was just so much of him, and to think of him not existing anymore, not being _right here_ —it horrified Dean.

Jaw wide, lips tight and sucking, Dean leaned into Jared’s hand when he reached down and caressed his cheek, traced the shape of his ear, slipped fingers behind Dean’s head and drew him even closer. Dean gagged once, but Jared’s touch, resting feather-light on the nape of his neck relaxed him, calmed him, allowed Jared in.

A few slow thrusts, stretching the tight muscles of Dean’s throat, and Dean was still gazing up at him, had to see him alive and here, so big and beautiful. He’d followed Dean across time and space and Dean loved him. Wanted him, wanted Jared to love _him_. _Dean_. He didn’t have to be anyone else and Jensen was right there to prove it, was suddenly behind Dean, kissing Jared’s fingers and Dean’s shoulder. Wiggled in close and tight so he could rub his cock along Dean’s spine, wrap Dean in his arms, pull on his nipples. Dean tried to moan at that, couldn’t with his tongue pressed flat and his throat filled airtight. Jensen pulled again, pinched and tugged harder than Dean had ever dared with a woman and fuck it made his cock jump. Made slick dribble from the tip as it bobbed, neglected.

“Never shared him before,” Jensen whispered, mouthing at Dean’s ear, licking Jared’s fingers, his own touching Jared’s cock, tracing the length of it to Dean’s lips. “Want you to have him so I can watch. Can I, Dean? Stay and watch you fuck my mate? I missed him so much, but I wanna see him with you. Please, Dean? Please?”

_please please please please_

Dean dragged himself off Jared’s cock, and what the fuck, he was _shaking_. Shivering like he was cold, hard enough to rattle his bones loose and yeah, Jared needed to fuck him like, right now, before Dean flew apart in a million pieces.

Jensen was like a sunburn on his back and Jared was just waiting, just fucking standing there _waiting_. Why? Why why why? What else did Dean have to do? Beg? He opened his mouth…and couldn’t do it, couldn’t say the words his mind was repeating endlessly. Wasn’t it enough that he was right here? Hard and wet and on his fucking knees? The omega’s tongue in his ear and his own mouth stretched from Jared’s dick and what the fuck else did they  _want_ from him?

A helpless, frustrated whimper fell crippled from Dean’s throat. And apparently that was good enough. There was a rush of movement and Dean only had time to close his eyes, half expecting to be slapped. It wouldn’t be the first time Jared had corrected Dean for his irritation and impatience.

He was grabbed rough, upper arm and around the back of his neck. He went limp, fell against the omega behind him, then was lifted, his feet kicking feebly. Jared pitched him down on the Sam-scented bed, and he couldn’t help it. Had imagined it so many times, and here was his chance to live out his fantasy. He rolled onto his stomach as soon as Jared released him and pushed his face into the mattress where the scent was strong. Closed his eyes, and he didn’t even have to try; the scent had his brain racing, brought his brother to his mind’s eye with ease.

Naked and long, strong, and a hint of a smile on his lips. Eager and ready, he was waiting for Dean to come to him, to be safe in his arms. And Dean stayed there, face buried in his little brother’s leftover sweat and come, as Jared knelt behind him. Knocked his legs wide and settled between them. Dean held himself still, breathed in Sammy while Jared put his hands on his ass and spread him open, the slick making a noise as he ran his thumbs up between his cheeks. Trailed wet up his spine to his shoulders, and Dean wanted to bite into the saturated material, get something of Sam inside him. Didn’t want to pretend Jared was Sam anymore, ever again.

He wanted Sam there with him.

And as Jared penetrated him, it occurred to Dean that, for the first time, it was actually an option for Sam to be there.

But his vision of Sam vaporised and he couldn’t even mourn it as his body exulted in being used as it was meant to, _finally._

Sex with Jared had felt good before. Great, even. Dean had enjoyed it, had gotten used to having no control over his orgasms, of depending on Jared’s generosity and his scary-huge knot to get him off, but _this_ , being in heat and having his Alpha inside him, was so far beyond anything he was familiar with.

Scrabbling for purchase, he tried to push back onto Jared’s cock but the sheet was loose and Jared was on his back, pinning him in place. Arms under Dean’s, hands gripping his shoulders, only half inside him. Dean knew that without a doubt; he’d taken the Alpha’s cock enough times to know what bottoming out felt like, and why the _fuck_?

“Jare—” he tried. It came sloppy between clenched teeth. “Please?”

So what if he begged? Fuck, he just needed to _move_. Needed Jared to move, push into him all the way. More. A little bit, twitch his fucking hips or _something_. Dean tried shifting, found he could hump slightly into the mattress but not enough and he was going to go crazy again if he didn’t get more than that. All of it. Jared buried inside him as far as he could be, fucking him hard, tying Dean to him and filling him up with come.

“Please!”

Nothing, just the pressure of Jared breathing deep, his nose buried behind Dean’s ear, and Dean was going hot-cold too fast, was clawing at the mattress and trying to get his toes to catch on something, anything, that would let him writhe, worm his way onto the huge, heavy cock teasing him open. He whined again, shuddered miserably. Jared opened his mouth against Dean’s neck, touched his tongue to Dean’s skin. Not right on the scars, but close enough that Dean cried out. Almost a scream.

“ _Alpha_!”

That’s what Jared had been waiting for. He let his weight down in a slow-dirty thrust that had slick oozing through the tight seal of Dean’s ass around that wrist-thick cock. Dean could taste Jared in the back of his throat, twisted his neck so he could put his lips against Jared’s hand on his shoulder. He tried to scream again, his body burning, trauma-stunned, but all he managed was a ragged gasp, his bottom lip trembling against Jared’s skin.

He’d wanted to fight, to shove back and struggle so Jared would pin him, keep him still and hold him tight and all he could do was flutter his eyelids, an involuntary response to the pleasure. Perfect, razor-sharp, the intensity of it had Dean limp and pliable, uncomprehending, and whatever he’d wanted, needed, struggled over, all of it was sheared away, disappeared like a bullet shot at the sun.

Jared sighed, pushed his teeth into the thin skin of Dean’s neck but didn’t bite down, even when Dean rolled his head, offering mindlessly for the Alpha to claim him. Dean whined when it didn’t happen. Disappointed tears burned his eyes, ran like acid over his hot cheeks as Jared laughed at him.

“Baby,” Dean heard, a sweet, triumphant note in his ear. “Good boy. I won’t hurt you, Dean,” Jared promised as he withdrew, pulled Dean’s will and soul out of his body with the movement.

He was hollow inside after that, existed only as a vessel for Jared to fill. That thought should have horrified Dean, and he moaned at the loss of himself. Just like he’d feared.

“Shh, honey,” Jared said. Flipped his hand around and smothered Dean with it. “You don’t want your brother to hear, do you?”

It didn’t matter what Dean wanted, and he knew it.

Jared spread his legs, shoving Dean’s apart so, so wide. His pained protest was muffled behind Jared’s palm and it rose in pitch when Jared circled his hips, coring out a place for himself inside Dean. The pressure made his stomach hurt as if the tip of Jared’s cock was nudging against the backside of his belly button, and Dean’s last coherent thought was that he hadn’t eaten since the day before.

The wet slap of skin on skin had to be louder than any noise Dean might have made, but Jared kept his hand across Dean’s mouth anyway.

“Fuck, you’re so beautiful, Dean,” Jared said against his cheek. “You’re doing so good already. Fucking made to have me inside you. I’ll take care of you. Do you want that?”

Dean nodded as emphatically as he could behind Jared’s hold. He couldn’t imagine anything he wanted more. He finally didn’t _hurt_. He felt cool inside and out, and calm, his mind quiet. He was aware of the tension in his body, how his back was bowed under Jared’s solid weight and how his thighs were strained with the angle Jared forced them into. He could barely breathe between the heavy Alpha on him and the hand over his mouth and most of his nose, but that was how Jared wanted him. Jared would take care of him. Wouldn’t hurt him.

Dean’s eyes closed. He let his body figure out the breathing thing, bent his knees to take some of the pressure off his legs, and held onto Jared’s forearm when he felt him withdraw all the way, just to nudge the head of his cock in and out, over and over.

Jared hummed, pleased and pleasured. “So tight, Dean. I couldn’t wait for you to get your heat, baby. Knew it would be good for you to feel this. This is where you belong, isn’t it?”

A muffled assent from Dean. It was where he belonged, where he wanted to be. Had always wanted to be. Pinned beneath his lover. Trapped and taking whatever was given to him. Jared was giving him a little more, another inch of his cock, massive, and Dean wondered what he looked like, what Jensen saw.

The omega was still in the room; his scent was obvious. Aroused and happy, and he must be seeing Dean stretched so wide on his Alpha’s dick, slick and open when Jared pulled all the way out, skin tucking in obscenely when he was filled up again. The image made him quiver. So exposed, so passive.

“Dean. Dean, shh, honey, I have you,” Jared whispered, and sparks popped and fizzed behind Dean’s eyes as Jared slipped deeper inside. He shifted this time, brought his knees together some and pushed up onto his elbows and now Dean could move. A little. Jared still had him by the face, had Dean’s head pulled back against his shoulder, back bent and legs splayed, but he could bounce his hips, clench his stomach muscles just enough to squirm on Jared’s cock. Not enough. He kept trying, bucking his hips, unaware of the noises he was making, even when he squealed because Jared took his cock away completely, held himself above Dean.

“I loved you when I thought you were Jensen. And I love you now,” came a whisper, right in Dean’s ear, and his throat went gallows-tight at the words. “Could you have loved me? Been happy being with me? I’m sorry I hurt you. I’m sorry I didn’t know—”

Dean eyes were open now, seeing only a screen of Jared’s hair—and the entire last year playing across it. Fear, drugs, violence, isolation, rape. And— _so fucked up, so fucked_ —Dean knew he could have been happy. There were things he could have done to make it easier on them both. Trusted, compensated, communicated. It could have worked. Especially if he’d known Sam was okay, but that had been impossible, so everything else had been, too. But he knew it now. Sam was fine, Dean was home, Jared loved him.

Sam loved him. Sam was fine, and he loved Dean and it could have been him poised over Dean’s body, asking for permission, asking for acceptance, but it wasn’t. He’d pushed Sam away, and his little brother had backed off when it had been obviously hard to do.

“Dean, _I’m sorry_ ,” Jared groaned, and shoved his cock inside Dean again. All the way to the base in one long, relentless drive of his hips and Dean was suddenly free of Jared’s hand over his mouth. The first words Dean said were instinctive and instantaneous.

“Alpha! Fuck, oh. F-fuck me, _please._ L-love, _fuck._ Jared, please, I-I—”

Jared destroyed the rest of whatever was going to spill out of Dean’s mouth, his heart. Turned it into a punched-out breath, something nonsensical, lewd and loud, and Dean put his teeth to Jared’s hand, wanting to be stifled again because there was no controlling himself once Jared started fucking him. He was ignored and had to bite down on both lips to keep himself quiet. Whined anyway.

Dean had been fucked hard before. Before Jared, and definitely after. The Alpha happy-drunk, or maudlin, he’d taken Dean from behind, by surprise more than once, and the strength, the sheer size of him, his scent rich and fierce, had gotten Dean hard and wet faster than he wanted to admit. Had made it easy for Jared to shove inside him, clumsy and eager at first after so long abstinent. Jared had made up for time lost by fucking Dean until he had carpet burn on his knees, was straining with sore muscles against the wall to keep Jared from pounding him face first into it. Had fucked Dean so hard they’d both been amazed it had felt good; Jared asked, demanded Dean tell him just _how_ good it felt, had embarrassed him when he couldn’t articulate more than shouts and moans.

None of those times could compare to this.

Jared was rocking against him with a lazy sway of his hips, a figure eight motion that was brushing his dick along everything sensitive-swollen-sore inside Dean, places that hadn’t existed before and were designed to unbalance him completely. It _hurt_ , and his whines turned to _yes yes yes_. His vision dimmed with his eyes wide open and he spread his legs more so Jared could blind him completely if he wanted to.

Dean felt surprising resistance inside him and squealed when Jared seemed to feel it too, and _pushed_. Firmly, slowly, and it was so weird and Dean tensed, expecting more pain, but all there was was a faint pop inside him and then _oh fuck yes god so much so big fuck AlphaAlphaAlpha yes_ Jared was in him completely, more than ever before, had him sealed up tight around all of his cock, muscle fluttering, opening and closing, nursing at the base, and Jared paused carving Dean up from the inside for a moment. Went still, his forearms on Dean’s shoulders to make sure he was quiet, too, and he waited. Waited for Dean to relax, go silk-soft and unraveled beneath him.

With a shiver, it happened. Jared withdrew, pulling away from that clutching, secret place inside Dean where the head of his cock had been nestled, and Dean wanted to cry at the loss. No time to, because Jared was done waiting, had finally made Dean into what he wanted him to be. Jared pulled only a few inches back before fucking back into Dean, hard enough they both groaned with the hit. He did it again, again, pounding Dean down into the mattress, slipping into that new spot he’d opened inside Dean over and over, and Dean would have been mortified if he’d known what was happening, what he looked like.

Jensen knew. He was right there, had slithered onto the mattress near Dean’s head, was running his fingers over the backs of Dean’s knuckles, hands fisted into the ripping sheet. Scraped long nails lightly over Dean’s cheek, into his open mouth and the drool spilling there. Licked it from his hand and leaned up to kiss Jared. Was growled at and met with teeth for his trouble. Went back down to Dean, eyes firefly-lit and bemused, and he nudged his face in close.

“Like being bred like this, baby?” Jensen slurred, half-kissing the words against the shell of Dean’s ear. “Just wait ’til he knots you.”

Dean moaned, a pathetic sound, because it was already happening and he was kind of scared. Jared was up on his knees now, one hand on Dean’s hip, the other gripping Dean’s ankle, twisting his lower body into a position he’d need help getting out of. When Dean twitched away from Jensen’s mouth, overwhelmed and overstimulated _already_ —and fuck, this was just starting, wasn’t it? He wasn’t going to live through this—he could see Jared looking down, watching where he was feeding his cock into Dean. The movement was fast, jarring, and short, because Jared’s knot was forming. Dean could feel the stretch of his own body trying to accommodate it as Jared pulled it free and pushed it back in.

“S-stop, _stop_!” Jared was going to hurt him if he kept it up. It was almost too much already. Too big, solid, and…and partly Dean was afraid it would get too big _outside_ of him. He wanted it where it belonged, needed it tying him to his Alpha, pumping him full of Jared’s come and keeping it there where it would soak into him and it could—

“Baby,” Jensen whispered, running his hand through Dean’s hair, down his neck, thumb digging into muscles and nerves and making Dean’s protest into little mewling moans and hissed breaths. Jensen touched his forehead to Dean’s cheek and he smelled like summer. Like barely-legal girls sweating off their coconut suntan oil, dripping vanilla ice cream over sea salt fingers. Like Sam’s breath the months in ninety-one when he’d been obsessed with those chewy honey candies that were three cents worth of Sam shutting the fuck up for five minutes while he popped loose teeth free in the taffy.

Jensen shushed him, kissed and stroked him and Jared was thrusting erratically, Dean’s demands completely unheeded. It didn’t matter anyway because he was giving Dean what he wanted. Deep inside again, pushing into that bruised place that didn’t hurt. Not as much as Jared’s fingers digging into Dean’s flesh, or the way he was bearing down, all his weight pinning Dean into something helpless and contorted.

And there was no more pain from his body stretching around Jared’s knot because it was fleshed out, thick and heavy and fresh-blood hot inside Dean now and Dean’s fingertips and toes were buzzing, his lips the same, coke-numb while his chest burned like he was pyre-lit. His eyes rolled on their own below sleep-lazy lids and he fought against Jensen one last time, needing to free himself, expose himself to Jared every way he could and the omega was in the way, hovering over him, one arm curled under Dean’s shoulder, hand low on his neck as he leaned in, licking at the pulse point behind his jaw. Guarding him, Dean realised. Protecting him from being bitten.

Jared seemed to notice the same thing. He snarled wordlessly and Dean felt Jensen jolt, shoved, but he didn’t retreat. Curled over Dean and held on as Jared shoved at him again and Dean wanted him to get the omega away, too. Wanted Jared to claim him again. Wanted to bleed for Jared and have his scars, wanted everyone to see who he belonged to—

— _where’s Sam?_

Dean opened his mouth to scream but had no strength. No control at all. Distantly, he heard himself panting, felt his belly squish through the mess he was making as he came, Jared’s knot pulsing inside him like a second heart. Dean was used to coming untouched, but he still wanted to _move_. Writhe and arch but he was utterly trapped, pinned by Jared’s cock, so fucking hard and huge in him and it felt so good his thighs were straining, trembling, trying to close, clench even tighter on it, but Jared had him where he wanted him, open and controlled.

And Dean couldn’t see him either; Jensen was blocking him from lifting his head. From pushing up on his hands and offering his neck to Jared. No matter how he tried, Dean was imprisoned under them and he’d gotten off in pain before, yeah, but panic was something new. Frightening, claustrophobic.

“Jensen, _move_ ,” Dean heard, the sound metal on metal, grating monotone, static-sharp and far, far away.

So far away and he was all alone, in a hole somewhere, not even enough room for a coffin. He clawed at the blackness around him, dug his nails in wherever there was give, not knowing it was cloth and skin he was tearing. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t see, was confused by how light and formless—how _good_ he felt, christ, it was _insane_ , the pleasure radiating through his body. He fought that, too. Unfamiliar and constant and it was making him cry, of all things. Dean could feel tears leaking through his screwed tight eyelids and he couldn’t wipe at them, hide them, because his wrists were trapped now, held tight over his head and all the weight of the world was on his back and he was going to fucking die like this.

There was something humming in his ear and he flinched away from it. Thunked his head into the wall. Not hard, and it oriented him somewhat. Wall meant a room, not a grave. A little bit of pain meant the pleasure hadn’t destroyed him, fried his nerves. It was still there; this pulsing, liquid warmth deep in his belly, but it was an ember now, not an entire city block on fire. He felt light pressure on his chest. Jared’s hand. How was that possible?

Dean opened his eyes. He saw Jared. Some of him. Pale hazel eyes and the tip of his nose, one ear with sweaty hair tucked behind it. Dean was on his back somehow—oh yeah. Jared did like to move them around during sex, liked twisting his omega on his dick. Dean kinda thought Jared liked doing what had to hurt, at least somewhat. Jared had pulled Dean’s legs over his own hip and thigh, and Dean craned his neck. Took in the glistening, slimy mess of his belly and fell back with a groan.

“Dean,” Jared rumbled, and that’s what Dean had heard a few seconds ago: Jared’s voice, low and dewy. “I love you.”

Dean wanted to laugh. Dispute it. What he managed was a slow inhalation and it was all Jared. Wind-in-the-pines and whitewater, clean and cool and perfect.

“I do,” Jared insisted. Softly. “I am so proud of you, Dean. You’re so strong. No, honey, look at me.” The words were gentle but a command nonetheless.

Dean wanted to tell Jared it wasn’t that he didn’t want to see him, he was just so sleepy he was dizzy with it, drooping in Jared’s arms. He blinked hard to clear the snow from his vision. Jared was smiling, a crooked thing that was wet along the line of his lips pressed together. Tears were seeping steadily from the Alpha’s eyes, down his cheeks and following gravity to his mouth. Dean had to lean in and kiss them away. Could still taste faint traces of blood.

“Love you, Dean,” Jared said even as Dean flicked his tongue along the salted curve of his bottom lip. “I was thinking about…all of this. Being here. You know it was the ring that brought you home?”

Dean hadn’t thought about it, but it made sense. Sure, Sam would have found something that belonged to Dean, meant something to him, found a spell that would pull him home using it. He nodded, too tired to do more than suck the taste of Jared from his own lip.

“Sam told me about it,” Jared confirmed, and twitched his hips as he said the name, made Dean gasp, stole his tears back from Dean’s tongue. “I didn’t like touching it, when I first found it. But I knew it was yours. Do you know what I was going to do with it? Why I brought it? To…to the clinic?”

The clinic. It was Dean’s turn to twitch, shiver at the memory. And god, Jared had _killed Alastair_. It was one thing that Sam had done the same; Sam had been raised a killer. Jared was a fucking lawyer. He was sweet and normal and he’d murdered someone for Dean. Someone who deserved to die, sure, but _still_. Dean hadn’t even said thank you yet.

“I was going to ask you to marry me, Dean.”

The confession would have stunned him if he wasn’t already fuck-dumb and half asleep. His heart misfired anyway.

Jared said, “I didn’t know who you were then, but it didn’t matter to me. Do you understand? You could have been _Dean_ and I still would have wanted you. I know who you are now…and I still want you. And I think that’s why I’m here. Because of that ring and what it meant to me.”  
  
“Jared,” Dean rasped, his throat so sore from pleasure that it was just a hum in his own ears.

“Don’t, baby,” Jared stopped him from…what? Saying yes? No? Wait? “I know. It’s not the same now. I _know._ I love you. And I know you don’t know what you feel, at all. But I had to tell you. I want you to know it’s not just…just who I thought you were, or the heat. You don’t have to do anything for me anymore. Do what you want. Use me right now; I want to help you. But you don’t owe me anything. I love you.”


	7. Chapter 7

The panic room was the safest and somehow _least_ comforting place Sam had ever spent the night in. Really, he hated it. Bad memories. Failure, shame, addiction. He’d battled them all in this room. He’d also been unconscious for more than a week here, hooked up to an IV while his body decided whether or not to reject its own soul. That soul was in place, though probably not intact, and Sam winced as his left ear started ringing for no good reason.

 _‘Don’t scratch!_ ’ _Pff, oh yeah, okay, sure. I won’t think at all about how I was raging around without a soul for more than a year and how that soul is all fucked up, rotting behind some…‘Wall’ in my head. Or what? I’ll burst into flames? Fall down dead? Go insane?_

Sam hated that that made him think of Jensen, but there it was. Jensen was crazy, and they both kind of had a wall up, didn’t they? Sam had been warned not to go poking at his own, but who knew what would happen if Jensen’s came down. More of a house than a wall, and Ellen had said it was crumbling… He prayed Jensen could deal with whatever memories came crawling out of the rubble. He prayed harder that Jensen would never _have_ to deal. That he’d never know what had been done to him.

Maybe that wasn’t right. Maybe it was healthier for Jensen to know how Alastair had abused him. Maybe it was selfish for Sam to wish Jensen would remain _mostly_ blissfully unaware, but the thought of Jensen knowing the hell he’d gone through made Sam sick.

He rubbed his eyes, yawned. Sat up in the cot and silently cursed Bobby for not putting a fucking toilet in here. Right under the Bo Derek poster where it belonged. And even with the exhaust fan above, it was stifling and Sam had soaked through his tee shirt. He stripped it off, wiped at the sweat running under his arms and, in a flash of irritation, chucked the sodden thing into the corner.

With no other choice, Sam trudged up the basement stairs. Still rubbing his eyes, pawing at the pillow crease on his cheek. He covered his mouth when he yawned again. Kept it there, unable to pretend anymore that he wasn’t trying to keep any scent that wasn’t his own from registering.

He’d hardly slept last night, anxious about his decision to leave Dean on his own, worried and fighting fantasies about what he’d done, hadn’t done, what might be going on. Hoping it was nothing at all. Knowing that wasn’t true. At least not where Jensen was concerned. The omega had gone straight to his Alpha, and Sam didn’t begrudge him that. And he wasn’t jealous. Not a lot, anyway. He was just…lonely. He’d gotten so used to Jensen being with him these last two months… Following him around, sitting with him, talking to him. Sleeping in his arms.

It probably wasn’t even seven in the morning, but it was warm already. The sun was shining when he passed a window, and the Impala was shadow-black outside, polished and gleaming from Jensen’s attention to her. The house was quiet, and Sam didn’t bother closing the door to the bathroom as he pissed. Splashed water on his face, brushed his teeth. He dragged fingers through his hair and turned to exit the room, but Dean was blocking the way.

Naked, pale except where he was flushed or bruised: mouth, cheeks, chest, eyes. Sam double checked the eyes, knowing it was Dean immediately but half-hoping it was Jensen. But no, it was Dean, looking like he’d never slept in his whole life. Like he was a ghost.

“Dean. You…” The breath he took to say those words was the one he’d been hiding from earlier. It was everything he didn’t want to know, all the things he’d been worried about. Obsessing over.

Dean’s heat scent was incredible now, intense and complex. A sweet mist of crushed apples. Smoke, incense-delicate and purifying. Caramel, heavy and rich in Sam’s mouth. Sam put his hand there, breathed in the smell of his own skin again, but it made little difference this time. He was too familiar with Jared’s scent now to ignore that it was mixed intimately with Dean’s. Even coated in the boiled-honey balm of slick, Jared’s presence was potent and _that_ was what had Sam hard? Envy and greed made his blood hammer through him.

“Sammy,” Dean said, the word barely there, like distant thunder. “Sam,” like he’d been looking for Sam and finally found him. Then Dean drew his brows together and glared. “I can’t,” he stated fiercely.

“Dean, step back, baby,” Jensen urged, coming up behind Dean and grabbing his wrist. Dean tried to jerk out of Jensen’s grip. When it did nothing to win his freedom, he cast a pleading look at Sam.

“Go,” Sam breathed. _Get away from me. You’ll never forgive me if you don’t._

“C’mon, Dean. Let him out,” Jensen said, tugging harder, his hand on Dean’s chest now, pushing, and Sam tried to slide by.

Dean snatched at Sam’s arm. Dragged him close and went to the end of Jensen’s hold on him to lean up to Sam’s face. His breath was all bonfire and honey, caramel and come, and Sam twisted his head away, gave Dean his ear.

“Sammy, stay with me.” The words were whispered, a secret.

Sam squeezed his eyes shut but he couldn’t move away. He heard the moist slip of Dean’s tongue as he swallowed, imagined his cock there. Just there. In Dean’s mouth, motionless while Dean drooled around him—

“ _Sam_.” Begging, and oh fuck _no_.

Sam tore himself free, shoved past Dean, knocked Jensen against the doorframe and escaped down the hall. Headed back towards the panic room. The bathroom door clicked behind him, shut him safely away from the twins. Or them safely away from him.

He wasn’t anything to them. Not what he should be or wanted to be or had been. Jensen had his Alpha back. Dean needed that same Alpha right now, apparently. Sam was just there, too close and familiar and he stood in the hallway and told himself he was stupid for wanting to cry. Dean would certainly mock him. Would _have_. Right now, he’d probably just try to soothe Sam, would worry over him and try to please him. Try to fuck him as soon as he realised Sam was aroused, because that’s what an omega would do.

Sam shouldn’t have stopped. Should have let want and promises propel him away from his brother. Instead, he shuffled towards the kitchen. Stood for a short time looking at the smears of Jared’s blood still on the table while listening to the shower run. Heard mumbles and Jensen’s laughter and the stumbling steps that took Dean and Jensen back to Jared. Looked at the dried blood and heard what he didn’t want to hear and wished he _could_ be weak for just one second. Be taken care of and comforted, and he scrubbed his hands through his hair, over his ears, pressed hard against the ringing.

When he opened his eyes, he found himself facing the doorway he’d just come through. He didn’t remember closing his eyes, and couldn’t recall telling himself it was okay to move. But it was happening. He knew going down this path, following drops of water and damp outlines of identical feet, wasn’t going to get him what he wanted. There was no being weak at the destination.

Maybe Dean really wanted him there. Or maybe he was too heat-drunk to know what he wanted.

Jensen was on the bed, on his stomach, head on his folded arms, smiling at Sam, looking for all the world like a sated, lazy cat. Eyes like campfire sparks in the night sky, hooded and sultry, gave away nothing. Just looked up at Sam. Waiting. He was the only one in the room who seemed to know Sam was there. Jensen beckoned him.

Sam shook his head. If he moved, the other two would surely see him.

Jared was sitting against the wall at the head of the bed, splay-legged and fucking hell, was that what Sam looked like naked? He wanted to not-see, to stare without comparing, without imagining himself there, but it was utterly impossible. He couldn’t see Jared’s face. At least there was that, so when Sam’s pulse revved so fast his cock actually jumped as it filled, he didn’t have to feel too narcissistic. But yeah, the body Dean was cuddled against was fucking gorgeous. Long and muscular, with golden skin marred by long red scratches from nails and little patches of burst capillaries from the injection. Chest and arms and throat. They were inconsequential battle scars.

The Alpha had his face turned away from Sam, hair hanging in his eyes, lank and stiff with sweat, and the way he smelled, fuck. Archaic words formed in Sam’s head: weald, alluvial, taiga. Jared looked like the god Cernunnos, and Dean some half-feral creature between his legs. His face was tucked into the crook of Jared’s neck and Sam could only make out his brother’s mouth, pouting, bottom lip tucked between teeth. Dean was shifting uncomfortably, sitting sideways on one hip and Jared was massaging him, running his hands down Dean’s shoulders and back and arms. Dean shivered and Sam saw sweat trickling down his ribs, heard the susurrus of Jared’s words but not the context. Dean hooked two fingers into his own mouth with a groan and relaxed, going smooth and calm in Jared’s arms.

Sam entered the room, stepping on discarded clothes covered by two seen-better-days sleeping bags Jensen must’ve scrounged out of a closet somewhere. He went to his knees on them and dragged Jensen by his upper arms off the mattress. Into his lap. It didn’t take much effort. Jensen came to him happily, shoved himself at Sam, but the rustle of them settling onto the floor was lost on the other two, perhaps purposefully.

Jared, clutching Dean’s face to his shoulder, rolled them both over, hid Dean from Sam. Pressed Dean’s back to the wall and with a few hip bounces and tugged limbs, had Dean’s legs around him. Jared’s body curved like a bow being drawn. Dean sighed like he was falling asleep as Jared prodded between his legs with his cock.

Sam looked away when the thick head opened his brother up, disappeared. Pulled back out, glistening with slick. He looked at Jensen, but that didn’t help. Identical twins, even to the eyes now, and Sam felt a second of panic instinctively looking for green irises. Neither had them, and Sam wondered if Dean ever would again. What if he was always like this? Never went back to how he used to be. What if he remained an omega and smelled like he did now and was wet, so wet down his thighs, taking Jared’s cock so easy all the way to the base, past the white skin where Jared’s knot must be and oh, Sam was watching them again.

“Your brother’s here,” Jared rumbled.

Dean seemed to struggle, toes curling. Jared’s back flexed as he pinned Dean in place, and Sam’s heart flipped in his chest. Embarrassment. Shame. And Jensen had his hand in Sam’s pants, stroking his hard cock and pushing him onto his back so he could get lips and teeth on Sam’s nipples. Sam wanted to say something—reassure Dean, tell Jared to shut up, command Jensen _tighter_ _faster_ _more_ —but he pressed the back of his hand to his mouth and lifted his ass so Jensen could strip him.

Dean was still combative, twisting and shoving at Jared, and Sam gave up trying not to watch. Jensen didn’t appear bothered Sam wasn’t paying him complete attention. He was all cream kisses and sharp teeth, slippery tongue and dragging nails. His lips parted over the head of Sam’s cock just when Jared’s chuckle and Dean’s frustrated moan mingled, and Sam added his own sigh to the mix as he hit the back of Jensen’s throat.

“Want him to see you, huh?” Sam heard, his own voice but not his words and yes, yes he wanted to see— _Please, Dean, let me see._

It didn’t _seem_ like Dean’s choice, but Sam could fantasize, where was the harm in that? Jared went onto his back, dragged Dean with him, put his hands on Dean’s knees and shoved them wide and thrust his hips up so hard it knocked Dean forward. He hid his face in Jared’s shoulder and Jensen was drooling over the backs of both of his own hands, not even trying to swallow as he fucked his mouth over and over on Sam’s dick.

Sam wanted to call out to Dean, get him to look at him again. Wanted Dean to see him, see Jensen and imagine himself there, _see_ himself there like Sam was watching his own hands wrap around Dean’s throat and force him up on his knees again. Hold him there even as Dean tried to wrench them away, but his eyes were shut until Jared tightened his grip. Like he’d been tased, Dean’s whole body seized up and shuddered. Hands dropped and twitched uselessly, his eyes opened only to show white as he tipped into unconsciousness, but Jared released him just before he passed out. Sat up and sealed his mouth over Dean’s. Dean’s body shook again and he moaned, long and low in his throat and he kissed the Alpha back, deep and messy. Sam’s mouth opened, envious.

Jensen hummed around Sam’s cock. Sam looked down at him, at Dean’s arched eyebrows and pony-thick eyelashes, bumped nose spattered with freckles, fucking perfect-pussy pink lips stretched around his cock. Jensen’s eyes were watery and smiling, green-gold, crystalline, shattered, spotlight bright with love. Dean had looked at Sam like that—once with blood on his face and a shit-eating grin and Sam hadn’t known Dean was going to Hell yet.

Dean cried out. Drew Sam’s attention back to him. Jared had shifted them, lifted Dean into his lap, and Dean curled his legs around Jared’s hips, let the Alpha take all his weight. Threw his arms over Jared’s shoulders, leaned on him, his temple against Jared’s, and he finally looked at Sam.

 _Vacant_ , was Sam’s first thought. But no…Dean looked like he was suffering. On the verge of tears, staring at Sam as Jared rocked him in his lap. Mouth open, tongue over his bottom teeth, irises swallowed in black as he searched Sam’s face. His gaze brushed a lazy swoop over Sam; lips, chest, hips. Swirled drunkenly, steel-on-flint sparks flaring in the corners of his eyes, when he reached Jensen sprawled between Sam’s legs, mouth and hands wrapped around the aching, solid length of him. Dean twitched, fists clenching behind Jared’s back. He rubbed his face against Jared as if he could wipe what he’d seen from his memory. Jared tried to turn, to see Dean, but he had to grab Dean’s hair and yank his head back to do it.

“Alpha,” Dean intoned, conditioned.

Jared growled again, put his mouth to Dean’s throat, licked up to his ear in one motion, gathering Dean’s sweat. Sam’s mouth watered, wanting. When Jared switched sides, Sam could see a long red line from the drag of Jared’s fangs over Dean’s skin.

As if he’d lost him in the small room, Dean’s eyes tripped over everything between them before landing on Sam again, and jesus christ, if Dean had looked at Sam that way under any other circumstances, Sam would be killing things to get to him. To save him, help him, ease his pain. The urge to do it was almost more than he could control.

“Sam.” Jensen’s voice was small and worried and of course he knew. “Alpha, please.”

Jensen understood, at least a little bit. Jared had no real idea what the brothers meant to each other. Not just this right here, but…everything. All of it. Sam had tried to explain to Jensen a few times. Found the right words difficult to come by. Words that weren’t out of some textbook on PTSD or codependency.

Jensen crawled up to Sam’s face, sticky palms against Sam’s chest. “Want you,” Jensen purred against his cheek. “Love you, Sam. Do you want me?” And he sounded so unsure, and fuck—

“Yes.” Of course he fucking did. Wanted Jensen, loved him. Adored him, wanted to protect him and comfort him and fuck him senseless. Couldn’t not want that. Loved Jensen like he’d been programmed to do it; it was so easy and natural and of course that was in part due to Dean. Sam’s love for his brother transferred effortlessly to this creature.

Jensen pressed his cheek hard to Sam’s. Pushed Sam’s face towards Dean and Jared. Jensen whispered, “You did it. You’re so good, Sam. Saved Dean. I knew you would. Brought my Alpha to me too. _Thank you._ ”

Beautiful, god he was so very beautiful. Dean’s form, okay, yeah, but the expressions were all Jensen. Nothing was ever hidden with Jensen. He was so easy and sweet and loyal and Sam was so in love with him. So happy he hadn’t chosen to go back to Jared and oh _fuck_ what if he had? What if he’d disappeared forever and Jared had ended up _here_. Jensen, alone in his fucked up world, a dead man at his feet and the entire system against him. Sam couldn’t—

“Alpha,” Jensen kissed into Sam’s mouth. “I’m here. Fuck. Sam. I’m here, it’s okay—”

And he always knew what Sam was feeling. What he needed, even more than what he wanted.

“Sam. Sam, fuck me,” Jensen said, biting hard at Sam’s ear, his jaw. “Like you wanna fuck him.”

Up on his toes, knees digging into Sam’s ribs, hands planted on his chest, Jensen squatted over him, held still as Sam fucked up into him, hard and fast. Sam reached back, cupped Jensen’s ass the same as Jared was doing to Dean, and Dean watched them, smearing lips over Jared’s shoulder, lightning-storm eyes greedy and locked on Sam’s face.

Sam caught Jensen’s balls, held him still as he pounded into him. Jensen was quiet as Sam touched himself, wrapped a hand around his slick cock and slid his fingers up and shoved two inside Jensen alongside his dick. Hooked his fingers and sought out that spot inside the omega that allowed him to come. Dug into it just to make Jensen squeal again, pant and bite his lip.

“Jen,” Sam said, withdrawing his fingers slowly so Jensen felt every last touch inside, and pulled him down.

Jensen collapsed with a groan, trembling thighs squeezed tight to Sam’s sides as Sam wrapped himself around him. Closed his eyes and rocked Jensen’s huddled form over him. Petted his face and hair, that sensitive spot along his neck, down his spine. Touched where they were one and he heard his name again. A soft, anxious sound Jensen hadn’t made.

Gasps and clipped cries and his name again, and Jared had Dean on his hands and knees now, was behind him, over him, battering his hips against Dean roughly. Barely holding himself up, exhausted, head hanging, it was Dean saying Sam’s name until Jared shut him up. Clapped a hand over Dean’s mouth and shoved him forward and down, covered him so Sam couldn’t see anything but the pale, obscene length of Jared gliding in and out of his ass.

Jensen sat up, took Sam into him completely and forced Sam’s attention back to him with the feeling. A smile curled his bruised mouth and he began to move, swaying and circling his hips. He was so soft and smooth on Sam’s cock, swinging his hips side to side, stirring Sam inside him. He wouldn’t let Sam lift him, tightened his muscles when he tried, and snapped his hips when Sam gave up and that felt so fucking good it was impossible to care he couldn’t thrust.

Sam concentrated on the numbing heat around him and let Jensen have his way. Slid his hands up Jensen’s thighs and found his cock, stroked it, let him shove himself through Sam’s fingers as he rolled his hips like a stripper and wouldn’t Dean find that amusing?

Sam put his hand on the back of Jensen’s neck, tilted his own face up. Didn’t press, didn’t _make_ Jensen kiss him. Jensen’s knees went wide and finally Sam had room to move, to bounce the omega on his cock as he kissed him, licked into that sore mouth and rubbed his lips over bruises and Jensen just let him.

“I love you,” Sam whispered, winning a sweet little gasp from Jensen. “Will you let me get you off, Jen? Want you to come. Can I?”

A nod, a damp slide of lips over his cheek and as unmovable as Jensen had been a moment ago, he was like liquid as Sam spun him onto his back and pushed one of his knees up.

“Hold it,” Sam said.

Jensen curled his arm around his leg, hugged it to his chest. Slung his other leg out wide, left him open and displayed for Sam. Two fingers. Three, up to Sam’s knuckles. Pinky and thumb tucked, and Jensen’s belly rippled, his cock jumped, strings of slick dripping. When Sam pushed, Jensen made a noise, sharp and surprised. Sam stopped, the thickest part of his hand holding Jensen stretched wide.

“Sam, oh, oh fuck, please. Inside me, please.”

So warm and tight and familiar, being inside Jensen. How delicate he felt. Soft and wet. Slick seeped between Sam’s fingers as he slowly curled his hand into a tight fist, twisted his wrist. Practiced, he hit that tongue-rough button inside the omega easily. Sam didn’t want to tease him, didn’t want to prolong it, make Jensen beg. Just wanted to give. Fuck, that’s all Sam ever really wanted. Someone to give his love to. Give himself, everything, anything. Jensen had never rejected him.

Another twist, bumping rhythmically, and Jensen’s body clamped down like a handcuff around Sam’s wrist. A toss of Jensen’s head, palm slapped flat against his own balls, and he came with a gut-punched gasp. His pretty red cock spit water-clear and slippery come up his belly and chest. So much of it, it spilled over his ribs and pooled in his belly button. There was no withdrawing Sam’s hand; Jensen’s body was designed to hold a knot in place and it didn’t know the difference, but Sam could still reach Jensen with his mouth. Licked and sucked up Jensen’s come, honey flavoured and numbing to his lips and tongue. Made the inside of his mouth and throat buzz with the need to be filled up, fucked, but there was only one person he wanted that with and Dean was being fucked so hard just a few feet away that Sam heard the mattress rip again as Dean tried to keep himself from being shoved face first across it. Eyes open, but Sam knew Dean wasn’t seeing anything, just like his mouth was open but nothing coherent was coming out.

Jared was seeing them. Was staring Sam down with murderous intention and Sam was fucking done. He was sick of this push and pull and possessiveness and reticence. It was confusing, okay, yeah, fine. This was all fucked up, and none of them could have everything they wanted, but what the fuck, there was no reason for this jealousy. Jared hadn’t told Jensen to stay away from Sam as far as he knew, hadn’t said a fucking thing directly to Sam at all since he’d joined them, so why the challenge now? Why the dirty looks from Dean and Jared both? If they fucking wanted something from him and Jensen, they could use their big boy words and ask, or talk about boundaries or what the fuck ever.

Sam glared back at Jared before pointedly looking away, back down at Jensen still quivering on his hand. “Pefect. So good, baby,” he murmured and got a dazed smile in return. “Gonna take my hand out, okay? Let me go, Jen. Just relax.”

“Uh! No, no—”

But Sam settled down on his side and wrapped his hand around the back of Jensen’s neck. Squeezed hard, like he’d learned to when Jensen was freaking out. Instant silence. Jensen shivered once, full-body, then relaxed. Sam moved his wrist first, felt the soft sheath around him give a little. Pulled gently, and when Jensen didn’t react but for a flutter of his weeping eyes, Sam slowly withdrew his hand, dripping wet and cramped, from Jensen’s body. Palmed the soft, throbbing hole that wanted to swallow his fingers right back down. Scooped up and caressed the omega’s warm, heavy balls and pumped his still-hard cock several times, watching Jensen’s eyes go pinprick to saucered and back before letting go of his neck.

“F-fuck, Alpha, s-stop, fuck, please!”

Sam laughed. “Shh, honey, I’ll stop. Okay. Love you, Jen.”

Light touches, kisses. Sam fumbled around behind him, found a tee shirt, and wiped up the mess. Prodded Jensen onto his side and curled up around him from behind. Closed his eyes, because he didn’t care to see Dean or Jared and the rivalry and malice that was being projected there.

Sam whispered to Jensen and Jensen alone. His scent might give away other things, okay fine. He was insecure and irritated too, but his words he could control and give as he pleased and it pleased him very much to talk to Jensen. Pillow talk, and he was okay with that. Murmured _love_ , and _honey_ , _perfect beautiful so hot so good love you love fucking you you’re mine_ , and Jensen wiggled back against him, hummed happily.

“Jared,” Jensen said.

Sam’s heart skipped awkwardly in his chest. He lifted his head, opened his eyes. He could see Jared poised over Dean like something monstrous, dangerous with his canines bared and clutching onto Dean like he was Jared’s possession, not human, just a thing to hoard, dominate, destroy if he wanted to. Jared put his mouth to Dean’s neck, nipped him with his front teeth. Teased him with the suggestion of a claiming bite, and Dean didn’t move. They were both looking at Sam.

“Do it,” Sam heard himself snarl, inexplicably angry all at once.

The feeling carried him up and over Jensen, onto his knees and the bed, all up close to the pair, and the hurt he felt when Dean tried to flinch back from him just made him more pissed off.

“Bite him,” he urged.

Sam put his palm to Dean’s cheek and pushed his face to the side, not caring if it was okay or whatever to touch an omega knotted like his brother was to Jared. Didn’t care. Heard Dean’s wounded inhalation, ignored it. Met Jared’s gaze, held it as the Alpha smiled, almost indistinct. Sam could see the possessiveness there, though, because it was what Sam would feel, what would show on his own face.

Jared shut his eyes as he lowered his head and put his mouth to Dean’s shoulder where it curved to his neck. His hair brushed Sam’s hand, reminded him he was still touching Dean. He thought about taking his hand away, but Jared was quicker. Dean made another soft noise as Jared bit him, slipped teeth into the vein that would carry whatever it was in Jared’s saliva to Dean’s brain, to his heart.

A heavy weight in his hand. Dean’s head dropping, letting Sam support him as he went limp, his breath uneven little gasps in Sam’s palm. A huge broken inhale when Jared hunched his hips and slammed into Dean again. And again, the only place he was moving. Dean came again. Sam heard the spray of it against the ruined mattress.

And just because he knew it would hurt, that Dean didn’t want him to, he put a hand on Dean’s other cheek and lifted his face.

Kissed him.

Told himself he was right when Dean’s mouth went slack against his own, refused to kiss back. Maybe he couldn’t, maybe he was overwhelmed and unable to do anything more than live inside his rebellious body as Jared claimed him. But Sam told himself it was because Dean didn’t want him. Would never, even when there was an easy excuse for it.

Jared growled. Sam felt the vibration of it through Dean’s body more than he heard it, his ears ringing with rejection and lust and shame. It happened again and Dean’s body jerked back from Sam’s touch. Sam let them go. Sat back on his heels, obscenely hard and empty-handed as Jared clutched the back of Dean’s neck, made him go limp, face down, cheek to the springs needling through the torn mattress.

Jensen crawled up next to them. Past Sam and right up against Dean. Got down on his belly and ever so cautiously worked his hand under Jared’s grip on the back of Dean’s neck. That it worked stunned Sam. Made him love the omega even more for his boldness when Dean was able to lift his head again as Jared relented. Jensen petted the spot, caressed it as if coaxing Dean’s nerves to settle.

“You should let Sam have you, too,” he mused to Dean, kissing him between words.

Dean kissed him back even as he frowned, fluttered his eyelids as he tried to keep from looking at his brother.

“He’s screaming inside to have you, Dean. Can’t you tell?”

A muffled noise and Sam wanted to believe it was Dean denying Jensen. Like that would prove him wrong.

Dean didn’t say it, though.

So Sam did. Saved his brother lying. From admitting what he didn’t want to. Whichever. Dean had said enough to Sam last night, and they were both doing now what they said they weren’t going to.

“No,” he said, and the twins looked at him, identical pouts on their lips. Sam repeated it and reached for Jensen. It kept him from thinking about how true it was, but only if Dean were to come to him on his own, not because biology was tricking him into thinking he wanted it.

Dean arched his back, made Jared moan as he pulled against the knot like he wanted to get away. Wanted to follow Jensen into Sam’s arms. As if. Jared wrapped himself around Dean and toppled them both onto their sides. Held Dean against him by his throat and fucked him brutally. Got an arm under one of Dean’s legs and lifted it up. Just to expose to Sam what he was doing. Had to be.

And it was unreal, the way Dean’s hole almost blossomed open over Jared’s knot. Sam could catch glimpses of it, like Jared was actually trying to work it free. Jared bit Dean again, latched onto the unbloodied shoulder and shoved himself hard up against and into Dean. Made him come again. Dean’s expression didn’t even fucking change when it happened. Stared helplessly at Sam as his cock pissed come and his hips churned involuntarily, milking Jared. The Alpha growled, laughed, something, some kind of wolfish noise and he dropped Dean’s leg to pinch the back of his neck and Sam felt Jensen tense as if he knew what was coming. Jared hissed as he braced himself against Dean and began to pull, hand on Dean’s hip to hold him in place. With an audible pop, Jared freed himself and released Dean at the same time.

Dean sobbed when it happened, shuddered and rocked back weakly, seeking. Small aftershocks pulsed through him, hips to shoulders while the rest of him lay there like a broken doll, his neck twisted so he was forced to look up at Jared. But Jared, like Sam, was fixated on Dean’s asshole, open, pouring come. He looked ruined. Loose and rose red and he whimpered, called out to Jared. Panted his name and _Alpha please please_ then collapsed, his mouth the same miserable empty ‘o’ as his asshole.

Jared filled them both. Fingers and tongue; he leaned over and kissed Dean as he slipped half his hand inside Dean’s ass and Dean bucked his hips, shoved himself onto Jared’s hand even as he turned his head weakly, fell away from Jared’s lips like a disaster was happening there. He grabbed for the sheets, but it wasn’t enough. Nothing was except Jared, and Dean seemed to finally give up that fight. Wrapped his arms around Jared, rubbed against his face, pawed at his back, clutched as if he could bring Jared closer, deeper. Snapped into an arch when he couldn’t, then collapsed. Went still, arms limp, palms up, head lolling to the side, exposing every vulnerable spot on his body. A long, low noise through bitten closed lips, more a whine than a moan. His eyes rolled, lids fluttering as Jared made him come again: thin, clear fluid spitting from his flushed cock, and Sam was utterly entranced.

Jared was still kissing Dean, mouthing at his lips and cheek, slow and sweet, completely the opposite of what he was doing with his hand between Dean’s legs. Punching hard enough to make Dean’s body jerk, the squelch of slick was so loud. Not loud enough to cover up Dean’s moans. He was turning into Jared’s kisses again, muffling his words, but Sam still heard them.

“Please. Jared. Fuck, _please_. Alpha, please, yes, fuck. _Alpha_.”

Jared didn’t so much flip Dean as force him over, most of his hand up his ass and Dean had no choice. His obsidian-chip eyes and wounded mouth looked abandoned and so alone as Jared mounted him from behind, pushed him open on his knot and there was no doubt it hurt him that time. Dean cried out, jerked forward. He was shaking, thighs trembling and hands fidgeting for something to hold onto. Jared pinned him by the shoulders as he hunched over and thrust, sank his knot in. Whether Dean was still resisting or it was just too big to take, Sam could see Jared’s thick, pale knot just barely tucked inside Dean.

Sam wasn’t holding onto Jensen and the omega slithered away, crawled up and touched it. Ran his fingers over Jared’s knot, traced Dean’s rim as it fluttered and tried to clutch it tight inside.

Jared glanced at Jensen over his shoulder, flashed fangs at him, but didn’t tell him to stop. He knocked Dean’s knees wider with his own, bore down with his chest until Dean’s back was in a painful-looking arch. All it did was make room for Jensen to push his face between their legs, flick his tongue just inside Dean and over the shiny knot holding him open.

“Fuck,” Dean groaned, fighting, thrashing as much as he could.

Sam swore he seemed embarrassed. He wanted to laugh but knew better.

Dean had his palms flat on the bed, his chin down so he was looking straight ahead. At nothing, with that glazed expression of Jensen’s that was so incredibly alien on his face, made him seem so vulnerable. It killed any humour in Sam’s heart.

Dean’s straining thighs went wider. His hips snapped up, rolled back and out as he presented. It looked impossible. Sam’s own back twinged just imagining it, but Dean did it like he’d been born to. Jared gasped as Dean’s hole finally closed up around his fist-sized knot, the angle of Dean’s body letting him slide in completely.

“Oh, good boy,” Jared said, Jensen’s tongue on his balls now with no knot to lap at. “Good boy. Knew you could. Gonna make me come again, sweetheart.”

“Fuckfuck _fuck_. Alpha.”

“Jen.” Sam said it quietly. Didn’t want to demand Jensen come to him, but… Even being in the room, so close to everyone else… Without Jensen touching him, Sam felt alone. Detached. And Jensen was the only one he could turn to for help, to alleviate that isolation.

Of course Jensen came to him. Gorgeous, weird, mischievous Jensen. He pushed Sam back, crawled over him like an eager puppy and he knew why Sam kissed him hard. Licked deep into his mouth and sucked at his lips. He smiled and kissed Sam back and everything faded for a moment. Fell to background noise. All the chaotic feelings and the strangeness of doubles and confused love and raging want. And Sam wasn’t pretending, even though Jensen’s mouth tasted of Dean and another man’s come, and Jensen was looking at him with his unnatural eyes and god fuck he was just so sweet and Sam loved him so much.

Jared’s voice broke through all that like a kick to the jaw. “How much come do you think is inside you, Dean? Enough to get you pregnant? Want my knot so fucking bad just to keep it all up in you, huh? So you get fat and heavy with my baby. Is that what you want?”

A surprised, ragged groan was all Dean could manage. Maybe not so surprised. Maybe Jared knew something Sam didn’t.

“Oh, you’ve thought about that, huh?” Jared asked, motionless except his mouth and the barely-there flex of muscles up the insides of his thighs, between his legs. His balls tightened and throbbed with his racing heartbeat, pouring come into Dean.

Jared forced Dean down again, wrenched his face around so he could kiss him while he muttered to him about making him pregnant, how sexy he would look swollen with it, how Jared would keep him that way, breed him constantly. Licked the words into Dean’s open mouth. Sealed it off in between. Jared turned Dean on his dick, pinned him on his back so he could push on Dean’s belly as he threatened him, cup his chest like he had milk-heavy breasts. Dean’s eyes were closed tight, and he was honest to god whimpering. Weak little complaints, almost pulling away and Jared only had to move his hand a fraction to make Dean still, to keep from being held in place. And he never said no, never denied or rejected anything Jared taunted him with.

Sam was the one that broke. Couldn’t take it. Found himself back on the bed and shoving his way between them. And Dean didn’t react to that either, merely tilted his face up and let Sam kiss him. Hard, and Sam moaned at the taste of Dean’s mouth, at the way his tongue gently touched Sam’s. At how he shifted just a little to make the angle better, deeper. He was so pliant and responsive; Sam could tell that now. By taste and touch and scent, he knew how aroused and willing Dean was. Sweet saliva and a steady smouldering fire under his skin. Dean’s lips trembled, chased Sam when he moved back to see him. Looked down into his brother’s messed-up eyes. The colour was all wrong but Dean was still in there. Somewhere. Blanketed by this terrible want that he didn’t want and didn’t deserve to suffer through, and Sam realised what he was doing. Making it worse, confusing things, and Dean was so willing to let him.

“Sammy,” Dean said, a shameless whine and Dean’s hand caressed Sam’s cheek. Tangled in his hair and tried to pull him back down. Looked hurt and confused when Sam wouldn’t kiss him again.

“Dean, fuck, I’m sorry, I—”

Jared cut him off by jerking Dean up. Away from Sam, back into his arms. Put his mouth low on Dean’s neck and bit him again. Glared at Sam over Dean’s shoulder through his hair as he did it, and all Sam did was reach out and brush the strands from his face.

Surprised, Jared blinked and lifted his head. His mouth was painted red with Dean’s blood, his fangs running with it, dripping over the soft curve of his bottom lip and Sam would never understand why—maybe he didn’t want to—but he leaned forward and kissed Jared. Licked at those red lips and felt the faint burn of Dean’s blood. Flicked his tongue over the sharp ends of Jared’s canines and dared to slip inside his mouth when Jared opened to him. Sam closed his eyes, pushed his chest against his brother’s back and felt Dean’s hands search for him, fumble to his thighs and hold him tight as Jared pushed Dean’s blood into his mouth with his tongue.

“Fuck,” Sam slurred, broke away. Fell back on his ass and wiped at the saliva and blood on his chin.

Dean was wrapped around Jared now, ribs hitching like he was crying and Jared was just staring down at him and Sam knew that look, and he couldn’t be here anymore.

He dodged Jensen’s hands and snagged his pants as he left the room. The omega would probably follow, but Sam closed himself in the bathroom before he knew for sure.

He needed to leave.


	8. Chapter 8

Sam twisted the shower knob to the left until it couldn’t go anymore. Turned his face into the scalding spray and opened his mouth to it. Spit, drooled, swallowed, scraped his tongue against his teeth to remove the blood soaked in there. Dean’s blood, kissed into his mouth by Jared.

_What the fuck, Sam._

He refused to think about it. Too much blood. Another universal whatever, apparently. He hadn’t even told Jensen _why_ he’d been so freaked out about it that day on the kitchen floor. He’d have to, eventually. It would come up and Sam would have to explain his addiction. Past and present. It had never really faded. More like was buried; a great deluge of horrible shit had taken precedence over his need—his _want_ —for blood. The craving for the intimacy it brought—

“Fuck.”

Sam bowed his head under the spray, let it run like lava down his spine. Spread his legs and felt the sting of it over his hole, the wet heat drip from his balls. His cock was swaying heavy and soft and he opened his eyes. Peered down. Wondered if Jared’s looked the same when the knot wasn’t swollen.

Jared had _kissed him_. Sure, Sam kissed him _first_ , but Jared had done it _back_. Why? Sam had expected to be bitten. Snarled at, shoved away. Not just…kissed. Not to have Dean shared with him through that kiss. God fuck, _sharing._ It was all going to come down to that, wasn’t it? He was going to have to share Dean forever now. And Jensen. It had been easy to imagine when the future only involved his brother and the omega. Sam knew Dean would have adjusted. Begrudgingly, slowly, but he would have. Sam felt that in his soul.

But now _he_ had to share. Everything he loved with all of his heart he now had to let someone else love, too. It twisted him up inside. Was he even capable of it? And… And fuck, did Dean and Jensen even really _want_ him? Was he just fooling himself into thinking he’d have the opportunity to share? Maybe he was the interloper now. The dynamic had changed so drastically from what Sam had expected, he had no idea of his place. And Jared had kissed him back.

It was probably nothing. Just the situation. The heat. What would Jared want with him, anyway?

Sam slipped a hand down his belly to his thickening cock. Jared was an Alpha, and as far as Sam knew, he didn’t want what Sam had to offer. And he certainly wasn’t keen on what Jared might want to give him. At least physically…

Sam let himself go. He hadn’t even come. Before. In the little room with them. He’d gotten Jensen off, and his cock twitched impatiently at the memory. Fuck, the omega was so beautiful, so wonderful to touch and play with and pleasure. And Dean had come—Sam didn’t even know how many times. Jared, too. Knew only by his words that he’d filled Dean up full with it. Enough to…to—fuck he couldn’t even think about it. It was impossible, anyway. It had to be. No matter what they’d done to Dean over there, it _had_ to be impossible. Right? Dean hadn’t seem worried about it…

Sam slammed the water over to cold, complained loudly into the steam at the shock. When his brain was finally too concerned with getting warm again to think about anything else, he got out. Dried off and put his pajama bottoms back on. He had no idea what time it was, but he was starving. Shivering, intentions building, he opened the door.

Of course, Jensen was right there. “Sam?”

Everything Sam had managed to stifle flared to life again. Sam gagged, flinched back from the omega and the bedroom-scent around him, a whorehouse lily.

“Jen,” Sam said, but he had nothing to follow up with. He shut his eyes, held his breath, and stepped forward, gave Jensen time to get out of the way, unlike this morning. Of course, Jensen followed him.

Once he was past Jensen, Sam opened his eyes and fled back towards the panic room, like he should have fucking done in the first place, earlier.

“Sam!”

Sam stopped, cursing himself silently. He let Jensen catch up to him, grab his wrist.

“Alpha, please—” and oh shit did Sam suddenly _not_ want Jensen to ever call him that again “—what’s the matter?”

He didn’t mean to laugh in Jensen’s face, he really didn’t. But it came out, and it was cruel and a little hysterical and even Jensen’s frown and hurt-confused look couldn’t check it. Jensen let go of him, took a half-step back and chewed his bottom lip as Sam laughed into both of his own hands. Laughed around the pain twisting his guts up, at the claws ripping his heart to shreds as they tried to drag him back to Dean. Then the laughter died, a flash flood of insanity he was dimly aware he was lucky to have survived.

“Alpha—”

“Don’t,” Sam cut him off like a bone snapping. Jensen flinched again, eyes huge and surging, aurora-green and worried.

“Oh. I-I—” Jensen stuttered.

“No, Jen, it’s okay,” Sam said. Reached for Jensen, humbled when he didn’t move away; Sam wasn’t sure he’d do the same, faced with himself right now. But the omega let Sam draw him close, hugged him back, rested his head on Sam’s shoulder.

Sam murmured, “C’mon,” and led the way to the library. To the couch there. He sat, but Jensen kept his feet. Maybe he wasn’t as comfortable as Sam wanted him to be. Maybe he didn’t want to be as close to Sam as he had been.

“I gotta get out of here,” Sam said, only half to Jensen. More reaffirming it to himself.

“Why?”

“I just… I can’t be around Dean right now.” Couldn’t face Dean. Didn’t want to understand Jared. Wouldn’t be able to deal with Jensen slowly leaving him. “Come with me,” he blurted. _So stupid, what the fuck, Sam._ He kept his expression neutral as Jensen perched on the edge of the chair next to Sam.

“I can’t, Sam.” _And there it is._ “I want to, but I can’t leave Jared.” _Of course not. You can’t. And you won’t. Will never._

Sam moved to stand again, to get to the end of all this. Take himself out of the picture before anything worse happened. Jensen put a hand out to stop him, and his words were almost frantic, pleading: “A-a-and Dean _wants_ you here! You’d leave him? What if s-something happened? What if…something came for him? What could me and Jared do to protect him?”

Sam sighed. Jensen was right. He wasn’t thinking clearly. And why did he even ask the omega to leave with him?

Because he was more used to pain and rejection than anything else.

“Is it…what Jared was saying? To Dean. About—” Jensen began.

“Uh, yeah,” Sam admitted. “Partly.”

“It’s not—he can’t do that. Get Dean pregnant.” Jensen sighed and looked down at this hands. He said, “Jared’s sterile. Birth control. Got an injection so he doesn’t make sperm. It’s reversible. There’s an antidote, or whatever, for it. …At least, where we’re from there was.”

Sam rocked forward on the couch. “What the fuck? Why—that’s—why would he _say that_ , then?”

Jensen shrugged, eyebrows up. “He’s really fucking dirty, Sam. I mean, so are you, you know? You wanna go in there and tell him to stop? Dean didn’t seem to mind.”

“Dean’s _out of_ his mind right now.” Sam shook his head, rubbed his palms over his face. “Wow. Okay. Well, that’s good, I guess. About…about Jared. Isn’t it?” He peered at Jensen, suddenly unsure. He hadn’t thought about it. Assumed it wasn’t an issue, somehow, and holy shit was that irresponsible of him. Jensen would have said something, wouldn’t he? Unless… Like Sam had just said about Dean, Jensen had been out of his mind when he’d been in heat, too. And why was Jensen just gazing back at him and chewing his upper lip? “Jensen?”

“It’s…good. We thought having kids would be too hard on me. He always wanted them, though.”

“Did you?”

Jensen sucked on his lip for a few seconds before answering. “I do now.”

Sam frowned. “But you just said you can’t. That he can’t.”

“You can.”

The two words hit Sam in the gut, made his insides go icy even as biology made him smile, sent a rush of exhilaration through him. He swallowed hard. His voice wasn’t cooperating. “J-Jen, I-I—”

“You can,” Jensen repeated, and stood, took the two steps to the couch and sat beside Sam. “You did,” the omega said, touching Sam’s knee. Left his hand there for Sam to take or shove away. “ _We_ did. I guess I didn’t think it could happen with you, and I’m sorry I wasn’t more careful, or, or—I don’t know! Sam, I’m going to have a baby. Yours. Ours.”

Sam’s brain instantly bisected itself. One half was sparking with terror. How would they take care of Jensen? What if there was a medical emergency? They obviously couldn’t take him to a doctor! What if something was _wrong_ with the child because Sam and Jensen weren’t quite the same? The chance that it would have long, sharp canines or eyes like Christmas lights was pretty huge, and who knew what else might happen! How would they keep it safe?

The other half of Sam’s mind mused sedately about hair colour and lip shape. Would it be a smart freckled girl or a feisty tall boy? What would they name it? Would it call them both Daddy or was there another word for the omega to use? Dean was going to be an uncle.

Sam’s mouth moved before either side of his consciousness connected to the question. “Does Jared know?”

Jensen nodded. “Yeah. He knew right away. Scent change.”

Sam felt Jensen’s nails worrying at his sweats like he wanted to grab onto Sam but was afraid. He placed his hand over Jensen’s. Pressed it flat, held it down firmly, how Jensen liked.

Sam asked, “Does he, um. Is he…mad? Or, like, what does—how, uh. What. What do we _do_? Jensen, you—you really want this?”  
  
“I do, Sam. I want it.” Jensen’s hand wiggled and when Sam let him, he flipped it around, laced his fingers through Sam’s. “Jared’s not mad. He knows it wasn’t your fault—”

“It kind of is. And is that what this is?” Sam thumbed over the bruises his own fingers could have made along Jensen’s jaw. “Did he hurt you because of it?”

“N-no,” Jensen shook his head and blinked hard. His tears made Sam’s mouth water, made his chest tight. He gathered Jensen close, held him hard against his chest. Like Jared had been holding Dean earlier. “That s-stopped him. He wouldn’t—he was just…confused, but he stopped when he r-realised…”

“I don’t want him to hurt you anymore. Ever again.”

“It’s, it’s my fault he—”

“No,” Sam interrupted. “It’s not your fault. It’s never your fault. It doesn’t matter what you do, okay? There’s no reason for him to hurt you. _I know_ ,” he cut Jensen off again as he opened his mouth to protest, “I know sometimes you want to be hurt. I get that now. But this…” Sam brushed lightly over the bruise again, smeared tears along his jaw. “No. I won’t hurt you, either. I’ll never hit you out of anger or frustration, and I’m not going to let Jared do it. This stops now.”

Jensen pulled his shoulders up tight, scent shifting to something rot-sweet with his insecurity and doubt.

“You wanted to stay with me, Jensen,” Sam said, dropped his voice to almost a whisper, concentrating on bringing the omega back, getting him to believe what Sam was saying. “So trust me. I will never hurt you like this, and I won’t let Jared do it anymore. Will you let me protect you? And the baby? I want to. I want to be everything you need me to be.”

Jensen nodded, dragged his damp cheek against Sam’s chest, tears slicking their skin.

“Don’t cry, babe. You’ll let me protect you? Do you promise?” Another nod. “Thank you. I’ll fight for you, Jen. If I have to. I won’t let him hurt you.”

“He’s not bad,” Jensen whispered back. “He’s not. It’s just been so hard. I’ve… I’m not easy to love, Sam. Never have been. We made it work. Had to. I did this to him as much as he—”

“No. Jensen. Whatever you did…hurting you isn’t an option. Do you hear me?”

“Okay, Sam.”

Jensen didn’t believe him. Sam could tell that, but the omega’s scent had lifted from decay.

“Just trust me, Jen. I’m going to look out for you. And the baby. And… Hey. What, uh, what’s gonna happen? Is it hard? Um…giving birth? We can’t take you to a doctor.”

Jensen shrugged, swallowed a few times before he could answer, his voice still small but cheerful. “People have been having babies for thousands of years. I think I’ll be okay.”

“Did you and Jared talk? He knows we can’t like, medicate you here. Take you to a doctor. He gets all that, right?”

“We didn’t really talk…not about the baby. He talked about Dean. He didn’t know what to do, how to help Dean or if he even wanted help.”

“Apparently he did.”

Jensen said nothing. Sam thought about asking how it happened. If Dean had come to them, or if Jared had tracked him down, but he decided he didn’t want to know.

Instead, Sam asked, “Does he… Does Jared want you to have it? I mean, would he—does he want you to keep it?”

“It’s _ours_ , Sam,” Jensen said, loud, possessive and fierce. Then, like a bird in flight, he changed again, stuttering, “B-but if you don’t w-want it… I mean, if—Jared will. He’ll love it like his own. I-I know he will. You don’t—”

“Jen, no. I mean, of course I want it. I don’t know what to _do_ , but I’m not going to just ignore this, or, or pawn you and a baby off on Jared. …Unless that’s what _you_ want. Is it?”

A laugh was Sam’s answer, a crazy little cackle that had Sam’s arm hair standing on end. Before he could jerk Jensen back so Sam could see if he was shifting personalities, move his own hands away from Jensen’s mouth before he was bitten, Jensen squirmed, all knees and elbows until he was straddling Sam’s lap, hands dug deep and pulling on Sam’s hair. Sam squawked, startled and hurt.

“What do _I_ want? Does it fucking _matter_ what I want? Did I want this? Did I want to be here? Did I want Jared here? Did I want to share him with Dean?” The questions were fired off and Sam realised this was the first time he’d seen Jensen angry.

“Jensen—”

“Sam! Just—just _tell me what you want_. I’ll do it. Anything. I swear I will. I want this baby and I want you and I want Jared, and I want Dean to be okay and you to be happy and you don’t seem happy about _this_ , and nothing is the way I want it—”

But Sam knew what Jensen wanted. The omega was hard. Of course he was. Sam could hear Jared in the other room. Could smell him. A cool breeze through a house too hot, too stifling, heavy with sex and frustration. Not even Sam was immune to the influence of an Alpha in his element. And if Jared’s scent was influential, Dean’s was like witnessing someone’s delirium close-up, and Jensen was caught in its current, a twin’s _folie à deux_. It was dragging over Sam like a lover’s tongue, pulling his blood to the surface, pooling it in his cheeks and cock, making his hands flex with the need to hunt and hold. Sam couldn’t have Dean. Didn’t want him right now. Not really. Not like Dean was: so intoxicated and weak with lust, submissive. Because that wasn’t _Dean_.

But Sam could accept Jensen like that, had grown to love him exactly that way.

Sam bucked his hips up, bounced Jensen in his lap. Threw him off balance so he could get his hands between them and around Jensen’s throat. Thumbs up high, digging into soft skin, feeling a pounding pulse there, and Jensen arched. His cock, free of the boxers pulled tight and low around his hips, smeared a glossy trail through Sam’s belly hair.

“Hey,” Sam growled and shook Jensen by the throat, held him back when he surged forward. “ _Stop_. Slow down, Jen.”

Jensen glared, tossed his head back defiantly, but settled with a choked sigh. He was tear-stained and tired, dark eyes bloodshot, the gold in them dull. He wiped at his cheeks with the back of one hand and chewed on lips that had to be kiss-sore.

Sam kept his grip loose, but knew better than to let go. He said, “Look, I’m not as adaptable as you, okay? It takes me a while to process things. This is _a lot_ to process. No, _wait_ ,” Sam insisted when Jensen bared his teeth and tried to rip Sam’s hands away from his throat. “That doesn’t mean I don’t want you, or a baby with you. I gotta figure out how to take care of you. I wanna give you what you want, as much as I can, okay? I’m overwhelmed, too. But don’t fight with me. Don’t freak out. Calm down. It’s gonna be okay.”

“Promise?” Jensen coaxed, slowly melting onto Sam’s lap.

“I promise I’ll try my fucking hardest.”

Jensen wouldn’t let him take his hands from around his throat. Held them there as he shifted, spread his knees wide and tried to grind himself against Sam.

“Never enough for you, is it?” Sam said.

Jensen huffed, offended. Canted a sly look at him, pressing himself against Sam’s grip.

“I know,” Sam laughed, his pulse suddenly racing, his voice a rumble in his own ears. “I wouldn’t want you any other way.”

Jensen shook himself back and forth, testing, daring Sam to let go, and when he didn’t, Jensen reached between them and yanked at Sam’s pajama bottoms. Busted the string and ripped a seam. Tore them down the hip in one hard pull that burned Sam’s skin, and reminded him how insanely strong the omega was. Jared must be twice as strong…

“Christ, Jen!”

Jensen didn’t stop. Leaned up and over Sam, broke his hold to rid himself of his own clothes and strip Sam of what was left of his. Threw himself back into Sam’s lap, both hands jammed between them and stroking Sam hard.

“I need you. I wanted to tell you—not like this. I’m sorry, sorry it’s—” Jensen clenched his eyes shut, bit both lips together. “What if I’d _left_ , Sam?”

“Don’t think about it anymore.”

A nod, and Sam expected more tears but there were none when Jensen opened his dizzying eyes. Opened his soft mouth and kissed Sam, still stroking him. Poised in his lap. Waiting, Sam realised, and pulled him forward. Got both hands on his ass and spread him wide, made it easy to get inside him.

Slick, tight, hot, and Jensen moaned like he was tender, too. Sore and full already, and _fuck_ he was _pregnant_. Was going to swell up round and heavy with their baby. Sam wondered if they’d still be able to fuck then, how Jensen would look straddling him like he was now, his belly bulging and his nipples dark and thick and leaking. Curled on his side when he was too fat with it to do anything else, Sam wrapped around him from behind, playing with his milk-tits and feeling their baby move inside Jensen’s belly and fuck _fuck_ this was exactly what Jared had been talking about. Saying to Dean. God, how could Jared _not_ be jealous of this? And… And Jensen had said Jared would readily take responsibility if Sam didn’t want to. …He _did_ want Jensen to have a baby. Might have had one with Dean, if possible.

Jensen was rocking over him, moving gently, his cheek against Sam’s. Breathing him in. “Alpha,” he whispered.

“Jensen,” Sam asked, “do you still love me? Does this mean anything now that Jared’s here?”

The answer was banged against his mouth in a rough kiss. An incredulous hiss of words: “Yes. _Yes._ Sam, I do. I love you. I promise. I _want to._ ”

Sam knew what he meant. He nodded, his heart hurting anyway. Nodded even though there was no question to answer. He’d been so afraid of having to walk away from another person he loved. He hadn’t wanted to fall in love with Jensen, was sure it was going to end in heartbreak when it happened. This was a miracle Sam didn’t deserve. This creature’s love. Having Dean back. A baby. And Jared.

He was standing in the doorway, watching.

“Can I come in?” he asked.

Rhetorical.

Jensen’s head whipped around, and it felt so so fucking good on Sam’s dick when he tensed. He couldn’t help thrusting up into the feeling. Jensen gasped, dropped his cheek to Sam’s shoulder, and called to Jared. A question, a plea.

Sam grabbed Jensen’s hips. Held him down. Not that Jensen made a move to leave him, but if Jared wanted the omega, he was going to have to rip him out of Sam’s hands, and Sam wasn’t going to invite him outright. It’s not as if he’d be returning a courtesy.

Jared moved towards them and there it was, intimacy stretched thin as Jensen panted eagerly.

“Look at you,” Jared murmured, trailing his fingers up Jensen’s spine as he got in close. Head tilted in consideration, he inspected them. Fingertips followed eyes, brushed over Sam’s hands on Jensen. Pressed down on them, staring right back at Sam when he glanced up, confused. But: Jensen was shaking. Scared? There was something Sam didn’t understand and Jared did and was he trying to show Sam? To tell him with touch and a worried frown that was doing nothing to the hard-on wetting the front of Jared’s (Sam’s) sweats.

Again, pressure. To keep Sam’s hands on Jensen. He did, and his eyes on Jared but the Alpha was moving closer, so close to them, right up against Sam’s leg and over Jensen’s back. Jared hooked a hand under Jensen’s jaw and lifted his face. Jensen stretched, clutching Sam but seeking Jared. Kissing him. Slow, sweet, mouths held apart just so, so Sam could see tongues touching and spit-strung, see the smiles and hear Jared hum, pleased.

That hum. Jared’s voice. _Sam’s_ voice. Aroused and sure. Sam knew it, knew what Jared wanted. What was going to happen, and _fuck_. Yes. He wanted it too. Nervous excitement clawed through him, made him buck into Jensen, his cock throbbing, balls aching, dying to move, to fuck Jensen hard and have Jared right there with them.

They were bumped apart with Sam’s sudden movement and Jared _laughed._ Had to know, and Sam hoped Jensen knew, hoped he wasn’t scared. Wanted him _right here_ , now, with them—

“Jensen,” tripped off his tongue, begging. The name was kissed back into his mouth, Jensen’s tongue, Jared flavoured (and _Dean_ , fuck oh god). That laugh again and Jared leaned, tucked his face right up into the curve of Sam’s shoulder, let his mouth and tongue tip slip on Sam’s skin as Jensen rocked incrementally between them, licked and kissed them both.

Sam closed his eyes. Flipped inside: belly, heart, head, like he was too drunk. Too hot, hemmed in. Jensen was mewling and moving from mouth to mouth, cheek and neck and digging into Sam’s arms with his nails, jerking away from them (nowhere to go, Sam would not let him), then lunging for them and Sam had to hold him down (had to) but he wanted to comfort him, needed him to be calm and okay.

“Jenny. Honey,” Jared whispered, moved back and Sam wanted to hold onto him too, but he didn’t go far. Between Sam’s legs, bent over them. Kissed Jensen’s neck and shoulders, hands caressing down his back and up. Sam could feel it, lifted his own fingers to snag Jared’s just once, wanted—

“Dean’s finally asleep,” Jared offered up. Was watching Sam when he opened his eyes. Waiting for him. Jared didn’t ask, didn’t warn; long fingers slipped along the underside of Sam’s cock and inside Jensen.

“Oh fuck. Jared, n-no, wait, wait!” Jensen struggled free of Sam’s arms and reached back. Jared glanced down and smirked, and Sam felt the head of Jared’s cock slip up along his own, what was left outside of Jensen’s body because of the position they were in. Nudged hard against them again and Jensen squeaked and shook his head. “No, wait! Jared, it’s too much—”

Sam opened his mouth to—what? Stop Jared, tell him to listen to Jensen? He’d be lying if he said he didn’t want what Jared wanted. But Jensen was _fighting_ now, was trying to rise up on his knees and jerk his hips away from Jared but Sam still had him there, holding him down. Jared snatched Jensen’s wrist, held it high up behind his back with one hand, and with his other, clamped down on Jensen’s neck. The omega collapsed heavily onto Sam’s chest.

“You’re going to do this for us, Jen. I know you can. Don’t be scared. Just relax,” Jared said, leaning down, half-crouched over them. So close Sam could feel Jared’s hair against his cheek. Close enough Jared could turn and kiss him again if he wanted to.

It was unfair to tell the omega to relax. Jensen had no choice, and god he felt so good, all his weight settled and sliding down Sam, his body opening up loose and soft. Jared was nudging against them again, and without Jensen resisting now, he slipped inside all at once. So thick. Sam couldn’t help the surprised groan as his dick was crushed up against Jared’s. It didn’t hurt. Not much, anyway, and not for long.

Jensen tensed, hissed an agonised little sound, and Jared was still shoving himself inside. Sam had never felt anything like it; the pressure and firmness along his own dick while being surrounded by soft, wet heat. Lasted forever too, him just as long as Jared, just as big around and hard.

Jared _thrust_ , housed himself completely, impossibly, and Sam cried out, startled and so turned on his vision went blurry for several pounding heartbeats. He heard Jensen echo the sound, moan something low and hopeless and that brought Sam back. A hand to Jensen’s cheek, he lifted the omega’s face, flicked a look at Jared as he did and the Alpha let go of Jensen’s neck. Lowered his head and _pushed_ , trying for that sound again. From either of them, both.

“Shh—ah,” Sam soothed, gasped, gave Jared some of what he wanted. Jensen cried out, loud. Free from Jared’s grip, he twitched, tried to arch. “Jen, baby, shh. See?” Sam caught his chin as Jensen twisted, forced his gaze to settle. “See who’s got you, honey? Just us. You’re right here. You belong to us,” he added impulsively. “Just us. No one else ever.”

“ _Sam_.” Jensen kissed him. Knocked teeth, pinched lips doing it and Jared slammed in without withdrawing as if he was trying to force Jensen off of Sam. Blindly, Sam grabbed Jensen’s thighs, held him down. He could hear Jared breathing, smell the wildness of him, so close. Mouthing at Jensen’s neck, ear, cheek. Nipped at Sam’s jaw and when he jerked, Jensen turned to Jared and kissed him too. Craned himself as best he could to let the Alpha tongue-fuck his mouth to the same rhythm Jared was using below.

Sam braced himself on his heels and pumped his hips up. The couch creaked under him and Jensen was sobbing between kisses as Sam rattled them apart over and over just to watch them come back together. If it hurt, was still too much for the omega, Sam couldn’t tell. Didn’t seem that way now; so slick and taking them both so easy and Sam had never felt something as incredible as Jared’s hard cock up against his own. Jared started to move, to pull out but Sam wasn’t ready for that yet, wanted Jared right where he was. Let go of Jensen just to catch Jared’s sharp hips, yanked him back in place. A little more of a reach, all he had left, and Sam curled his fingers into Jared’s ass. Hard, and harder when the Alpha groaned and rolled his hips and Sam felt like Jared was doing it just for him, slipping their cocks together because he wanted Sam to feel that.

Rougher, digging in with nails now and Jared hissed, dropped away from Jensen’s mouth, pushed him down with a hand to his spine. Ducked, hair covering his face, but he didn’t try to stop Sam from hurting him. Twisting handfuls of muscles and leaving long claw marks to match Dean’s and the ones Jensen left on Sam. Then Jared surged forward, followed Jensen down and _no._ Sam knew what he was going to do. He let go of Jared just to wrap an arm around Jensen’s neck. Sam had been the last one to bite Jensen, claim him, and some irrational, greedy part of him wanted to keep it that way. As if having his child inside the omega wasn’t enough.

Jared growled, lifted his lip like a fucking feral dog and Sam thought for a second he was going to fight for it. Thought Jared was going to try to bite _him_ when he suddenly shifted, but Jared only hunched over and hammered his body against theirs. Caught Sam’s forearm in one hand and Jensen’s hip in the other and fucked up into Jensen powerfully, ground down against Sam until he bit his lip to keep from complaining and then there was nothing to do but hold on, bear the weight and pressure and pounding of the Alpha.

Jensen was limp between them, nonsensical sounds being forced from him and Sam loved him so much that he’d let him go if he had to, if Jensen wanted that. Give him back to Jared, just so long as he could be near him. He’d have been lost without him, dead. When Dean hadn’t come back and Sam thought the spell had failed, if Jensen hadn’t been there—

“Shh,” he heard, soft and sweet and Jared had his lips in Jensen’s hair but his eyes on Sam, and his knot was way too fucking big to get inside Jensen with Sam already there and Jared taking up the rest of the space, fat and throbbing alongside Sam’s dick, but Jared was _trying_. Pushing hard, and Jensen wailed.

Sam reached down between their bodies into the space sopping with slick and sweat and wrapped his fingers around Jared’s knot. Like steel and so so fucking big and hot in Sam’s palm as he clutched it. Clamped down and squeezed tight. Jared grunted a surprised, “ _Fuck_!” at the pressure. Sam felt Jared’s knot throb once, twice, another heart in his hand, and knew the Alpha was coming as Jensen started to thrash again, shoving back, instinct making him try to take Jared’s knot even though there was no way. Sam let him try, had the breath crushed out of him as Jensen pushed, whined when it couldn’t happen.

When Jared moved, panting, Sam caught a fistful of his hair, not as ready as he thought to give all of Jensen away. And he wanted to see Jared’s face. Yanked his head up. Glazed eyes glared at Sam. Jared snarled, shuddering like he was cold though his hair was soaked in sweat. Opened his mouth wide, fangs sharp and dangerous and he pulled on Sam’s hold just to turn his head, raked one across Sam’s forearm. Sam groaned at the pain and Jared kissed the welted skin.

So close, but Sam jerked away. Out of Jensen. Tugged on Jared. He needed no more encouragement; shoved up hard, forced his knot into Jensen’s loose hole.

“Oh! Oh fuckfuck oh, Jared, oh—” Jensen babbled, just taking it like he was meant to. His words turned into a soundless scream when Jared finally got all the way inside him. Started fucking him, fast and vicious.

“Come for us, baby,” Jared commanded, holding the omega up with an arm around his middle, Jensen draped over Sam. He could reach Jensen’s cock, rose red and so pretty, leaking slick, his balls drawn up tight. He yelped like they were sore when Sam cupped them.

Jensen had his eyes shut tight but his mouth open. Sucked Sam’s fingers like he was dying to do it when Sam slid three of them over his tongue and oh, that was _good._ Hand on Jensen’s shoulder just in case Jared didn’t have him as tight as it seemed, Sam kicked himself back, scratched the floor scooting the couch just so he could drag Jensen down and get his cock into the omega’s mouth, coated in Jared’s come and Jensen’s slick and fucking _ready_. Jensen took him almost to the base on the first try, moaned on the way back up, gurgled down. Drooling spit out the sides of his stretched mouth and lapping up his Alpha’s come, cleaning himself from Sam and trying to talk. Asking Sam to open his throat, like he wanted Jared’s dick to touch Sam’s inside him again.

“Good boy,” Jared said, and the praise made Jensen squirm, spread his legs and present. So beautiful. Back arched, ass up, slap-pounded by a heavy cock and stuffed full by a thick knot, Sam’s cock buried in his throat so deep it felt like coming up Jensen’s ass anyway when he did. Eyes open and on Sam, flashing gold and green and only fluttering a little when he came too, puddling the floor with a long steady stream of it.

“Fuck, fuck _fuck_ ,” Jared muttered, grinding into Jensen, his legs shaking and Sam couldn’t move, sprawled gasping and feeling flayed. Exhausted and… _here_. Grounded for the first time in days. Weeks, months. Dean was safe if not sound. Jensen was nuzzling him, humming contentedly, smearing his nose and cheek against the slick-spit-come mess of Sam’s cock and Jared wasn’t fighting him for that affection. Was looking at Sam with a curious gleam in his eye.

When he did pull the omega up, away from Sam, it was only to get the nape of Jensen’s neck in hand again so he could lift him off his feet. Off his knot. Jensen’s feet kicked as it happened and he winced, but Jared did it anyway, tossed him back into Sam’s arms, and stalked off.

The shower started. Jensen squirmed, kneaded Sam and nestled against him until they were lying down. Jensen sighed deeply and buried his face against Sam’s chest.

“Tired,” he murmured. “Love you.”

“Love you too, Jen. Are you okay?”

“ _Yes._ Very. You too?”

“I think so. You’re not hurt?”

Jensen wiggled, then shook his head. Peered at Sam. “’M fine. I’ll be fine. That was…a lot. You and him are _big_ , fuck. But yeah, I’m okay.”

“I’m sorry if that wasn’t something you wanted.”

Jensen said nothing but Sam felt him smile. Felt lips against his neck. “Want you.”

Jensen was asleep within minutes, Jared was taking his time in the shower, and it had been too long since Sam had seen Dean. An hour? Sam wasn’t sure. Knew he was probably okay, but…

Bottle of water in hand, Jared’s discarded sweats on, Sam stood in the doorway and watched Dean sleep. On his belly, arms under his chest, he was breathing too fast to be peaceful. Wriggling, undulating his lower body in a familiar way. Like Jensen had the first time Sam had found him here in this room, in heat. Jared had covered Dean with a sheet which was wet now, see-through, clinging to Dean’s ass. The scent of him was dizzying, scorching in Sam’s sinuses, luring him in with the claim that only Dean’s slick could soothe the burn. Sam clutched the door jam. The bottle too, and it crinkled-popped in his grip.

Dean flinched, rolled onto his side. Sam held his breath and thought about leaving, backing away quietly but Dean was searching. Hand skimming the bed for Jared. Opened his eyes when he couldn’t find the Alpha, and it still was such a shock they were not green. Dark holes, star-speckled. He didn’t see Sam right away. Rolled onto his back and arched, stretched, kicked off the sheet. Hard still, dick a wincing red. He curled onto his side and rubbed a hand over his bitten, bruised shoulder and sighed. Looked up.

“Sammy.”

“Hey.” Sam could barely breathe the word. Cleared his throat, tried not to stare anywhere but at the chaos of Dean’s eyes. Dean didn’t seem to care that he was naked and hard, and why would he? “I b-brought you some, um, water. I didn’t—” He stopped. Didn’t what? Didn’t know what to do at all, really.

Dean just reached out his hand, and Sam couldn’t resist. Could have tossed the bottle to him, but Dean was beckoning him. Sam hoped, anyway. Crossed the few steps and wanted to drop to his knees and crawl up next to his big brother and ask Dean to hold onto him. To tell him that everything was gonna be okay. Sam was exhausted being the one to tell others that, because he had no proof of it. Only hope. That’s all he _ever_ had, and look at all the bad shit that still happened to him. To them.

He held the bottle by the cap and extended it down to Dean. Gasped like he’d been burnt when Dean came up off the bed and latched onto his wrist.

“Jared was with you,” Dean didn’t ask. Was scenting him with an open mouth.

Sam froze and Dean used his arm to pull himself to his knees. Pried the bottle out of Sam’s hand and dropped it on the floor.

“Sammy.” A tug. Dean’s face turned up to his, then to the hand he was now holding. Leaned his temple against Sam’s fang-scratched forearm. “Sam, please.”

“W-what? What can I do? He’ll be right back.”

Another pull, and Sam went to him. Sank onto the bed and let Dean lay him down. Didn’t ask to be held; bit his tongue hard to keep that quiet. Instead, Dean let him go once he was next to him and curled up again. Knees up and between them, forehead to Sam’s shoulder, hands pressed to his bicep.

“Jus’ stay ’til then. Feels better…not bein’ alone.”


	9. Chapter 9

Sam dozed, and fuck it felt good to sleep. Next to Dean. He dream-wished of closing the door, locking it (the lock was still broken from Sam kicking it in to get to Jensen), keeping out everything and everyone and curling up around Dean until they were seamless. The same. One heart, single-minded.

Dean wanted it too, Sam thought. His hand relaxed from clutch to hold, breathing steady and calm, no longer a sob stoking to life in his chest. Stopped seeking for someone else, restlessly shifting. Pressed his hand and his face and all his love against Sam until there was nothing else worth feeling but brother against brother.

Sam drifted in that sacred place, tethered only to Dean, and only for minutes maybe. Just long enough his body was buzzing and slow when he came to. Lips dry and everything else just a little wet. Sweat, Dean’s breath condensing against his skin, omega-slick oozing down his hip where Dean was hard and slipping against him, having straightened one leg out, the other hooked over Sam’s thighs.

Sam held his breath (Dean was Autumn and applewood smoke and pillow-case candy stolen right out of Sam’s mouth, Dean smug around eyes-green caramel-coated suckers), tried to retreat into sleep again but his body would not let him. His heart hammered for no good reason ( _Deanomegaheatkissfuckkeep_ ) and his cock jumped in response. So hard for too long. His fucking balls ached. How did Jared and Jensen _survive_ this happening several times a year?

Jensen. A baby.

That tether tying Sam to Dean pulled taut but didn’t break.

What would Dean think of that? Sam fathering a child on someone not-quite-human?

 _Fits the bill_ , he heard in his brother’s voice. But Jensen wasn’t something bad.

 _Bad idea_ , that voice supplied, _bringin’ a kid into all this._

It was. A terrible idea. But they always managed when they had to. And they weren’t alone. Jared was here now, and Jensen swore the Alpha would help.

Sam was having a hard time trusting that, but only when he thought too hard about tables-turned and jealousy and _mineminemine._

Dean moaned in his sleep. Rutted up against Sam’s hip, and Sam had to dig his nails into his palms to keep from rolling over and onto Dean. Another moan, a sound like a question, like _want_.

“Dean,” Sam said. Softly, not really wanting him to wake up. “Shh. It’s okay.”

It seemed to work. Dean pushed his forehead into Sam’s shoulder, shivered, sighed and relaxed.

“I’m right here, Dean.”

It won Sam a few more minutes of closeness. Of tenderness he was bitter at having the chance to show.

He almost fell asleep again, praying. Drifted, but vibrations woke him all the way up after a while; Jared moving around somewhere with the step of someone unused to sharing a house that wasn’t his. Banging through the kitchen in search of food, most likely.

Dean groaned, the noise having roused him as well. He knuckled his eyes, cursed and curled back up, protective barrier of knees and elbows between him and Sam.

“Hey,” Sam said. “You feelin’ any better?”

“ _No_ ,” came the grumpy answer. But Dean couldn’t maintain it. Sighed again and pouted, flexed his back and shoulders in lieu of a stretch that would leave him exposed. Wiped his runny eyes again and left his hand between his face and Sam’s arm. Brushed his knuckles against Sam’s skin.

“Can’t think,” Dean muttered. Peered over at Sam, and the dark center of his eye almost eclipsed the stars there when Sam met his gaze.

“Do you want me to go?”

Those eyes squeezed shut but Sam couldn’t tell if Dean shuddered or nodded his head. It shouldn’t have mattered. Sam wasn’t supposed to be here, this close. This wasn’t what they wanted ( _wantwantwantDean_ ).

It wasn’t, right?

“Dean—”

Sam’s voice, his name spoken by it, made Dean whimper. Strain forward to get closer, touch its source. And Sam wanted to be touched. Wanted Dean up on him, riding him, green eyes glazed over with lust and love. Not shut tight, chemically altered.

But Dean was suffering and Sam knew how to make him feel better.

He touched feather-light against Dean’s leg and said his name again, but Dean was the strong one here. Always had been. So much more willpower than Sam. Not in the little things, the things that didn’t really matter, he realised. Dean stood and fought, Sam ran. Dean charged forward and Sam froze. Dean planned and Sam followed along. Dean obeyed orders when Sam argued for no reason. Sam made independent decisions and fucked everything up, and Dean was keeping him from doing the same now, as best he could. Rolled over, dragged the sheet with him as he did and twisted himself inside it. Settled on his side, his back to Sam, and Sam got the message.

“Sorry,” he mumbled and sat up, but Dean surprised him. Lunged up and knocked Sam down, tucked himself under Sam’s arm before he could adjust. Head on Sam’s shoulder, spine against his ribs; it would have been easy to cup his body around Dean’s, but it would have been impossible to stop there, so Sam merely concentrated on relaxing, muscle by muscle, and waited.

A few seconds, a frustrated noise, and Dean picked up Sam’s hand and tugged it against his chest. Folded his arms around it and Sam hazarded turning his head. Ducked down and could brush Dean’s hair with his lips and the tip of his nose.

“Did Jensen hurt like this?” Dean asked, and Sam felt every syllable through the fingers held to Dean’s heart.

“Yeah. He did. It seems worse for you, though.”

“Awesome.” Then, “How long?”

“A week.”

Because he was watching, was looking at the perfect swirl of Dean’s ear, Sam saw his jaw clench. Through his teeth, Dean said, “I _can’t_ —if this wasn’t—I don’t wanna _do this._ ”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

Dean rubbed his face against Sam’s shoulder instead of answering. Sam felt his brother’s breath tickle his armpit, and Dean settled there.

“So it worked… Just you an’ him? How? I-I—I mean, y’know. Without bein’ a real Alpha.”

“Without a knot, you mean.”

That’s exactly what Dean meant and Sam knew it, but something—sick and dark and powerful—made him say it. That thing reveled in the way Dean’s cheek heated against Sam’s skin, coiled tight and eager to spring when Dean’s body shifted at the word, the thought, the memory.

Dean made a noise, some kind of ‘yeah, that’ as he quivered against Sam, struggling to control himself and failing at it. And not even God could damn Sam more than he damned himself as he tilted his head and said into Dean’s perfect ear, “I used my fist. You saw it. He can take my whole hand and that gets him off just like a knot.”

Dean laughed like Sam was lying to him but Sam was sure the disbelief was at himself, at how much that turned Dean on. The honeyed heat-tang was making Sam’s mouth water.  

“Can get my dick in him too, jerk off inside him,” Sam said, lipped Dean’s ear on accident. Almost. He was torturing Dean and couldn’t stop himself from doing it. Fuck, what was he turning into? It was too hard to fight; harder than any addiction he’d faced.

Dean hissed, mostly Sam’s name, spelled out the rest with a full-body undulation against Sam’s side.

“What does it feel like?” Sam whispered, eyes closed as if the safety of shit said at night made this conversation more appropriate. “Being—being knotted.” But he opened his eyes when Dean tripped over his own breath, exhaled a low whine.

“It hurts,” Dean answered just as quietly. “It’s too big. Aches, an’ the only thing that feels good ’s to move…move on it. Ease the pressure. Jus’ makes it worse. Hotter, tighter. All over. In my chest and head and guts. Like I’m gonna bust open on it.”

“Looks like it’s going to ruin you.”

Dean huffed. “Won’t.” Silence, and Dean arched, pressed his neck against Sam’s nose, tempted his lips. “Didn’t ruin Jensen, did it?”

“Oh. No. Definitely not,” Sam murmured into Dean’s hair.

“It hurts,” Dean mused again, rolling his head to look slyly at Sam. “But it feels good too. Like rubbing out a cramped muscle, or losing a tooth when you’re a kid, y’know?”

Sam nodded, unable to recall anything at all; only functioning in the immediacy of _DeanDeanDeanheatwantfucklove_.

_I don’t want to do this. Don’t do this to me, Sammy._

Sam bit the side of his tongue hard enough to make himself wince, ignored the way it made Dean shift at the Alpha-pain scent. Clear-headed enough for a few seconds, Sam straightened himself onto his back, face to the ceiling.

“Dean, are you okay? Are you hurt or anything? I mean, other than…what the heat’s doing? Do you…do you need to leave?” he rushed. “I’ll help you. Whatever you need. If you want to get away, um, from, from… _us._ I totally understand if—”

Quiet, so still, not even breathing, and Sam really would have done _anything_ Dean wanted, anything in his power, if Dean had been able to ask. Instead, he startled Sam by sitting up, scrambling as if stung. Went to his knees, legs splayed, clutching the ruined sheet against his stomach. Startled, Sam sat up too. Touched the back of Dean’s arm.

“Dean?”

But his brother bowed his head, gave a harsh pant like he’d been kicked as the door was nudged open. Jared, naked and balancing a chipped plate in one hand, slipped into the room.

And like he’d been trained to do it, Dean said, “Alpha.”

If Jared heard him he acted like he hadn’t, that it didn’t matter. Ignoring Sam, he knelt in front of Dean and put the plate down nearby. The sight of buttered toast and sliced, salted tomatoes made Sam’s stomach knot sharply, but the way Dean’s face went pleasure-smooth and grateful when Jared put a hand to Dean’s head and guided him forward so he could kiss his lips, had that hunger feeling boiling into something hot and possessive.

Jared licked his lips and petted Dean’s cheek with his knuckles. “You need to eat. Dean.”

Dean finally looked up at Jared. Recognised the deliberate way his name was said; Jared either had to remember just who Dean was—that he wasn’t his omega, wasn’t Jensen—or he was reminding Dean of that same thing.

Dean made a face, eyes locked on Jared’s, jeweled like the evening sky, specks of incandescence flaring as if Jared’s presence was lighting them from the inside. Jared smiled at Dean, touched his face again.

Sam found himself hoping that Jared had gotten himself food too; he looked fucking terrible. Bruised around the eyes, lips pale and skin still sprinkled with the effects of blood thinning. Scratched too, between the bloody freckles. Green and blue blotches on his arms and thighs where Dean had pushed and pulled at him too rough not to leave marks.

“Food, Dean. C’mon, honey.”

Dean blinked, frowned, shook his head. Cut over to Sam furtively as if the pet name embarrassed him, of all the things that had happened so far in front of each other.

“Need t’—” he slurred and rocked forward, trying to get his feet under him. Jared put out a hand and Dean took it, rose up and stumbled out of the room.

Sam and Jared both went still, listening, only relaxing when sounds from the bathroom proved Dean’s destination. Then Jared finally looked at Sam.

“You should leave,” Jared said.

“We both should,” Sam replied, years of practice keeping his voice calm around the sudden impulse to murder someone. “Should leave him the fuck alone. He’s not enjoying this, Jared.”

Surprisingly, the Alpha seemed to consider the suggestion. He stood up, his nakedness apparently trivial to him, and made an attempt to clean the room. Tossed discarded clothes into one corner, pulled the stained sheet back over the ruined mattress, sat Dean’s plate of food on the desk. Then he settled in the middle of the bed, cross-legged, and pulled absently at his tangled hair, still slightly damp from a shower.

Jared answered, “No. I’m not leaving him alone. I know you think you understand what this is like for him, but you really don’t.”

“Jensen—”

“Jen’s _used_ to this. And if he doesn’t like the way he feels, he just—” Jared sighed tiredly, rubbed at his eyes “—goes somewhere else. Becomes someone else. Dean can’t do that. Can he?” It was only partly a question. Just checking to make sure kind of thing.

“No… He’s—why does it _hurt_?”

Jared shrugged. “So that it feels that much better when we’re together.”

“Jensen… It only lasted about a week for him…” Sam had to wipe at his mouth to keep from smiling, knowing what had come of it. Not wanting to anger or humiliate Jared.

“He wants you, you know,” Jared stated.

“I-I—”

“Dean.” As if Sam hadn’t known exactly who he was talking about. “And it might be easier on him if it _was_ you. But if you’re not going to help him, then _leave._ ”

“Easier? Help? He—he’s my _brother_. This isn’t something I should—”

“You’re stupid,” Jared said. “He loves you and wants you.”

Sam should have noticed the patience Jared was mustering, should have wondered at his lack of disgust at the idea of willful incest, but his own response to it was overwhelming. An undertow of desire wrenched at him even as the insult keyed at his pride.

The right way to react eluded Sam, swept away by need and irritation and confusion. Thick in his sweats, heart racing, and Jared was his perfect twin. Cock fat and nestled in the hollow of his thighs, his chest flushed, the Alpha watched Sam fight his instincts and emotions, expressionless; just staring at him, obviously without qualms about riling Sam up.

Before Sam could muster a reply, Jared’s eyes shifted from Sam, flicked to the door, then returned to Sam as Dean shuffled into the room, into the battleground there.

He reacted where the other two were stone. Slammed the door with a startled, uncontrolled jerk. Made a move like he wanted to grab the knob again and flee but Jared growled at him. A low rumble that Sam was sure should be physically impossible to make.

Dean froze. Chipped-crystal eyes darted between his brother and Alpha, and Sam caught an unpleasant fear-scent coming off of Dean, something that reminded him of an electrical fire.

Jared said his name, gently, but the warning was not gone from his voice. Dean looked at Jared automatically, but his body rocked towards Sam, and Jared suddenly grinned, pitiless and beastly with his wolf’s teeth.

“Take him, Sam,” Jared snarled. “That was your plan, wasn’t it? Take him from me. Keep them _both_. Isn’t that what you want too, Dean? Want to be _his_?”

Dean’s mouth moved soundlessly and he shook his head with no cue as to what he was denying.

Relentless, Jared said, “You want him, Dean! Just fucking go to him! He’s right there—”

“No. Jared, _stop_ ,” Dean begged, secret-whisper quiet, but he wouldn’t look at Sam. Couldn’t. Was sweetsweet heat-want under the fear stench.

“No?” Jared mocked. “ _No_? Then come here. Now. And tell him to leave.”

When Dean neither spoke nor moved, Jared exploded off the bed. Was on his feet and up in Dean’s space in a heartbeat. Just as fast, Dean dropped. Without a touch, he went to his knees in front of the Alpha, huddled over, fingertips touching the floor, neck offered to Jared’s grasp or his teeth.

Jared accepted neither. Grabbed Dean’s left arm and, easy as pulling a weed, snatched him off the floor and flung him onto the bed.

Sam hadn’t any time to move, to protect his brother. Only got to his knees and shouted wordlessly before it was over with, and Dean’s reaction stopped him completely.

Dean hit the bed with a gasp, his eyes shut tight. Shaking, his scent both sickly-sweet and caustic, he scuttled to keep himself upright, but not to get away. Planted his hands on the bed and spread his knees, arched his back, presented what Jared really wanted from him.

And hard now, pale knot already swelling, Jared covered him, drove the breath from Dean’s body with his weight slamming them to the bed. Forced Dean’s knees even wider, and won a loud cry from him in one brutal thrust. His knot caught on Dean’s rim, bent Jared’s dick slightly from the pressure used. He hissed. Locked his right hand around the back of Dean’s neck and squeezed, forced Dean’s chin to the mattress. Made him grunt through his teeth and claw at the sheet weakly, but it worked, and both of them were panting as Jared sheathed himself completely inside Dean.

“Tell me,” Jared commanded, that growl ripping the words to shreds, “tell me you want me. Tell me you want this. _Need_ me. Dean, say it!”

“N-need,” Dean choked out. “Fuck, ah—Jared. Alpha. Fuck. Need, need you. Oh god—”

Sam could hear the slap and suck of Jared’s knot pulling free and popping back inside of Dean, was watching Dean’s face as it happened. Saw the twitching of his eyes, the pouting mouth, knew the breaking of Dean’s voice for what it was.

“Dean—”

Jared curled over Dean and bit his shoulder. Tendons in his neck stood out with the force of the bite, and Dean screamed. Writhed in Jared’s hold. Began to cry. Sam couldn’t see his face now, but he could hear Dean sobbing, hear him cough-gag on his own breath and tears. But he didn’t break his posture. Kept his legs splayed and his hips canted up. Kept taking the Alpha’s unrelenting pounding.

The rhythm was a broken one, and it was obvious why. Jared’s knot was huge now, pale, glossy with Dean’s slick and it should have been impossible to get inside Dean; Jared was having to force it in, pushing so hard, stretching Dean’s flesh out obscenely as he dragged it free.

Sam could smell Dean’s blood. And his panic and pain, and his lust. That need he’d confessed to. Heat and slick and tears, and Dean wailed again as Jared nipped up his shoulder, mouthed at his jaw and throat just to terrorise him, scraping fangs on flesh just like he’d done to Sam, then he bit down again, made new punctures higher than the last. Worried at Dean’s flesh, shook him in his jaws like a dog with a hare, and Sam couldn’t take it anymore.

Jared didn’t see him coming, and Sam wondered for a split second if that would have made a difference. Sam grabbed a handful of Jared’s hair.

“You’re hurting him,” Sam warned, but Jared let Sam yank his head back and laughed at him, mouth a lazy smirk, eyes crazed and daring Sam to do something about it. Sam pulled harder, kneed himself closer to them so he could haul Jared up and away, but Jared wouldn’t let go of Dean. Dragged him up, held him, supported him completely and Dean wasn’t even paying attention; scrabbling at his cock with both hands, eyes closed, chest streaked with his own blood.

“Do you want me to stop, Dean?” Jared cooed in Dean’s ear. “Are you gonna come, baby?”

Dean nodded. His mouth opened but there were no words, not even a noise as Jared jerked against Sam’s hold just so he could pull his knot free, then he shoved Dean away. Sam had to let go of Jared to catch his brother.

Dean felt like a red-hot ember when he fucking slithered right up against Sam. Nuzzled into his neck and pressed their chests together, curled his arms under Sam’s and grabbed his shoulders. Arched his back. Presented himself to the seething Alpha behind him.

Jared slapped Dean’s ass, glaring steadily at Sam. Petted, caressed; his thumb slipped up inside Dean, Sam was sure of it, felt Dean’s reaction as an open mouth, a wet tongue-tip against his skin.

“Take him, Sam,” Jared insisted. “You’re so worried I’m doing something bad to him, then you do it. Make him feel better.”

He could. He was so fucking hard and Dean was heavy and pliant and Sam would be able to open him up with tongue and cock and fingers and fist and get him off and Dean would beg him to keep going.

And then he’d _hate_ Sam for taking advantage of him. This was so bad already. Dean was glazed over, eyes fucking _empty_ when Sam pried him off enough to see his face.

“Fuck. Dean? Dean! I-I—”

“Oh, poor little omega,” Jared jeered. “He won’t let me take care of you, Dean. And he won’t do it, either.” Still glaring, hateful, all fangs and sweat and a heaving chest and yet he was moving back, withdrawing slowly. Making sure Dean knew it was happening and Dean panicked, jerked around towards Jared, slapping at Sam’s hand.

“No! No, god. Alpha, please fuck me. I wanna come. Just— _fuck me_ ,” Dean begged, voice ragged.

“Now who’s hurting him?” Jared looked like he wanted to hurt _Sam_ , his hands in loose fighting fists, head lowered, eyes vivid and pissed under his brow. “Just give him what he wants,” the Alpha spat, “or let him go and get the fuck out.”

At that, Dean flung his head back and would have collapsed if Sam hadn’t held him up. He was feverish, skin pebbled and damp with tears and blood and sweat.

“ _Sammy_.” As if Sam had the answer to a question Dean wasn’t asking.

 _Stay with me_ , Sam remembered. Why? Why would Dean possibly want him to be witness to this?

— _the only way I can sort this shit out is to be me and you_ —

Oh.

Better to have Sam here rather than let Dean’s terrorised imagination run wild. Make Jared into Sam and have Sam forever stained by what Jared was doing.

Dean needed Sam there to tell the difference between them.

Dean hauled himself up and kissed Sam, a gold star for figuring out the answer, knowing instantly when it happened. Kissed him hard. Closed mouth, a three-second count, eyes open. Hands to Sam’s jaw, holding him tenderly; a contradictory little shove when Dean pushed away.

 _Stay right there_ , the action said, _don’t leave, don’t follow._

Jared’s black cloud dissolved when Dean went to him. His demands hadn’t been met but that didn’t seem to matter as Dean slowly scooted towards him. On his knees first, then to his hands as well, crawled slowly, as if Jared were truly the wild, cornered creature he seemed.

Offering his already bloody, bitten neck, Dean said, “Jared, please. Don’t…hurt… Don’t. I need you. _Need you._ Please just… _Please._ ” Touched him with a trembling hand, two fingers in a tiny-sad motion that reminded Sam of Dean as a child, trying to wake their dead-drunk father so they could get fed that day, finally, fearful of the man’s waking as much as they were dependent on it.

“Alpha?” Dean asked, little-kid-voice too when Jared said nothing, didn’t move. Always so brave, Dean only hesitated for a few seconds before moving closer, almost into Jared’s lap. Head on Jared’s shoulder, straddling his knee, insinuating his hands under Jared’s, provoking his hold. And Jared wasn’t immune to Dean’s manipulations, despite how he was holding back: his scent was cold, a whipping winter wind that was smothering Dean’s burn. Soothing it.

Another supplication from Dean, mouthed against Jared’s throat, and the Alpha finally reacted. Groaned; shocked both brothers with the sudden sound and the hurt there. Jared flicked a disconcerted glance at Sam and caught up Dean’s wrists. Twisted them behind Dean’s back, took them in one hand and lifted him with the other. Held him up by a cupped asscheek as they situated themselves.

Dean wriggled, off balance, trying so hard to get Jared’s cock back in him, but Jared just let him buck and strain, holding him open, watching Dean’s face, his own impassive again.

“Jare— _Alpha_ , fuck, please—” Dean huffed, rocked on the Alpha’s cock where it was tucked up along the crease of his thigh, but Jared made no move to help him. Said something, however. Leaned in close to Dean’s ear, made Dean shiver with words and lips brushed over heated skin.

“S-Sam? Sam. Please. Fuck. H-help? Please—just—” Dean said what he’d been instructed to, bouncing in Jared’s lap, maybe hoping—but it was useless. He couldn’t sink down on Jared’s cock without help getting it there.

 _Help him or leave_. Jared wasn’t going to let it go.

Hard, but the knot diminished considerably, it was still surreal to touch a cock so familiar and not feel it himself. Dean felt it though, made a sweet broken sigh when Sam nudged him up onto his knees high enough he could position Jared’s cock where it needed to be. That iniquitous fiend in him stroked up Jared’s shaft (exactly alike and his own was greedy for the same attention), cupped the head so when Dean tried to sink down, Sam’s knuckles were all he got. Tried again, left Sam’s hand slick-filled and he used it to make Jared slippery and that much harder. Knew what it felt like to have the Alpha’s knot pulsing in his grip and wanted to feel it again. Marveled that Jared had let him touch it at all.

Dean whined, rolled his hips. “Sam! G’dammit—”

“Shh, he can do whatever he wants,” Jared scolded. Sam avoided his gaze, bumped his hand against Dean again.

Dean objected wordlessly and Jared shook him. Tightened his grip on Dean’s wrists, his ass, crushed Dean against his chest. Sam felt Jared thickening when the movements snaked his cock through Sam’s grasp, and it was fuck around like this until Jared was too big again and hurting Dean trying to get it in, or—

“You can go first,” Jared offered, and Dean jerked, mewled most of ‘no’ but instinct made him try to arch, give himself, and it would feel so good to do it. Dean was slick and soft; he’d opened up so easy against Sam’s knuckles and his breath hitched in his chest as he thought about getting inside there. Pink and wet and swallowing him whole, Dean trembling and trying to take more and more of him. Kiss him until nothing was left but the taste of them together.

If Dean wanted that, he’d be in Sam’s arms.

Sam scooted back to the edge of the mattress.

Dean craned his head around, doped-up eyes all-black with the angle. Jared was mouthing at his neck again, whispering to him. Told him how they’d shared Jensen, said he was sorry he’d hurt Dean, that sometimes the rougher an omega was treated, the faster the heat would go by, and isn’t that what Dean wanted? And Sam could make it even better, but he wouldn’t.

Dean tried to push Jared away from his face, shoved against the Alpha with his head. Got nipped for his trouble. Slapped. Jared released Dean’s wrists just to catch him by his throat and smacked him hard across the lips. Tossed Dean backwards onto the bed between his legs.

Dean sobbed as he landed, and let himself be jerked around like a doll as Jared repositioned him. Flipped him over, got Dean’s knees spread, yarded him back against him. Onto him. Filled Dean up all at once with his cock.

Dean pushed up onto his hands to get more of it, get it deeper, and Sam saw his brother’s cock jump, warm honey-slick dripping onto the bed. Drips turned to a drizzle as Jared pushed in deeper, and Dean’s mouth opened wide, cherry stained where Jared had slapped him, but he took Jared’s knot easily this time; just a gasp and it was done, and just like Dean had said, it seemed to hurt inside him too.

Dean winced and pushed back, eyes rolling white. Bellied down low on Jared’s legs, grabbed his calves for purchase and began to fuck himself. The knot kept his movements controlled, a frantic grind, and Sam was suddenly frustrated by it. Wanted to see Dean taking that big dick with long strokes, see him rise up off the thick length and get split open by it over and over. But it was almost just as good knowing so much of it was locked up inside Dean’s body, keeping him open around it and so full.

Jensen had taken them _both._ Dean couldn’t possibly, was sweating and making noises on one cock Sam had never heard from any girl on his dick. 

“Good boy,” Jared rumbled, holding Dean’s hip with one hand and playing with his blooming hole with the other. “Keep going, baby,” he urged as Dean’s rhythm became erratic, shaking and jerking more than anything. “Want you to come for me. You’ve been so good, sweetheart.”

Dean mumbled, whined, sucked his bottom lip then the side of his own hand and Jared was push-pulling on him now. Sam wondered if being jerked off would help or if it was only being knotted completely that was going to get Dean there. He wanted to ask—

_Dean, can I touch you? Can I kiss you? Do you want me to? I want—_

As if he knew—and of course he did—Jared leaned up, peeled Dean off his legs and back against his chest. Took him further away from Sam. Dean let out a choked shout as the new position seated Jared even deeper. His face screwed up in pain, but he went limp, let the Alpha move for the both of them.

Thrusting up into Dean, lifting his hips from the bed, bracing himself with his shoulders against the wall, Jared muttered against Dean’s ear, but he was talking to Sam.

“Wanna see your brother’s cock? See what’s inside you right now?”

Dean groaned, turned so he could lick at Jared’s mouth, cry-beg for kisses instead of admitting what must be defeat, shame.

“Think he’d do that for you?” Jared mused, watching Sam’s furious blush. “Ask him, baby. Tell him to get his dick out for you. I’ll come if he does. You want that?”

“S- _Sam_. Sammy, fuck, _please_?”

As if saying no was an option.

“Look, look.” Jared nudged Dean’s face around as Sam lifted his hips and pulled the sweats off. Dean’s eyes slitted open, skipped away from Sam’s face after a half-second of eye contact. Settled on Sam’s dick, hard and pulsing with the pounding of his heart, curved up against his stomach and as thick as his wrist. When Sam wrapped his hand around it, Dean went liquid in Jared’s arms and clear slick spilled from his rose-red cock.

Jared moaned his approval of Dean’s reaction. Ran his hands over Dean’s belly and pushed his knees wide and Dean forward, made him hold himself up on his hands.

“Ah-ah, baby, keep watching,” he instructed when Dean’s head drooped, and they both stopped until Dean complied. Lifted his head, lip sucked back into his mouth to hide his pout, to stifle his begging. Because Jared wasn’t moving. Holding Dean with an arm around his waist and a hand to his back, keeping him still, even when Sam started jerking off.

He told himself it would help (leaving would help; Jared wouldn’t deny Dean what he needed if Sam weren’t here to manipulate—but Dean _wanted_ him here). He wanted to hide, a lifetime of keeping it to himself making his stomach hot and his skin crawl with his brother’s sudden focus on what he was doing (it felt so good; skimming his right hand over the length of it, fingers in a loose circle, gripping the base under his balls tight enough veins were bulging and blood-dark). But he leaned back instead, sideways against the wall, spread his legs so they could see as much as they wanted of him.

Dean’s mouth was open, eyes sleepy and heavy-lidded, chest and neck and cheeks flushed and Sam thought about coming right on that blushing skin. Pressing the tip of his dick against Dean’s face and having his come pool on his upper lip, coat the freckled bridge of his nose, cling in heavy strings to his lashes. It would only take a small move to get close enough. Would Dean try to avoid it if he knew what Sam wanted to do to him?

“So hot,” Jared murmured. “So wet for me, sweetheart. Makes you feel good, hm? Watching him? Wanna see him come for you? Want me to fuck you now?”

“Yeah,” was the simple answer to all of it.

Jared drove him forward with the power behind his first thrust. Gripped Dean’s hips to hold him steady, a heartbeat behind Sam’s rhythm, teasing Dean with the imitation of it.

Knotted, locked tight inside Dean, there wasn’t much Jared could do but pound against him, and Dean tried, he really did—Sam could see him struggling, shaking, eyes fluttering as he tried to keep focused on Sam like Jared had told him to—but he wanted to go down under the Alpha’s assault. Dropped his head, went to his elbows. Jared was knocking noises out of him too; Sam heard his own name, and a loud ‘fuck’ when Jared somehow got to his knees, Dean hanging from his dick.

Jared slipped a hand under Dean’s belly, latched onto his cock and that’s all it took. As if he’d been pent up, kept from coming for days rather than just hours, Dean’s orgasm drenched him. Sprayed up his belly and chest, soaked Jared’s hand, wet the sheet and puddled up between his knees. Made him cry too, tears squirting from the corners of his closed eyes. Maybe laughing, some kind of hysterical paroxysm that had Dean clawing the mattress, curling his toes, quivering, body wound up trap-tight around Jared.

The Alpha grinned as he leaned over Dean, nosed his ear and cheek, kissed encouragement into his skin. Another command too, and sniffling, trying desperately to swallow his tears, he peered at Sam.

“D-d’n’t s-s-stop, Sam—”

He had. Gone still watching Dean come apart, cock forgotten as he memorised every last little tick of pleasure and grimace of pain, overwhelmed by the sweet sun-blossom peak of heat-scent. He was stone, pulsing, ready to come, but if that’s what it was going to do to Dean now, Sam could wait. Wanted to see it again, more, harder—

“You wanna see what it’s like to have two Alphas in you, baby?”

A whine, sick-eager and scared and Dean’s legs twitched to close but that wouldn’t matter, not if those Alphas really wanted him. But Jared just laughed against Dean’s cheek and cupped a hand around his neck.

Dean shuffled forward when Jared nudged him and Sam could have moved. Couldn’t, felt trapped suddenly, pinned as if by demons, when Jared guided Dean down, over.

Not even breathing, Dean just lapped him up, curled his tongue around the head of Sam’s cock and pulled him in. In in in, down his throat. Held Sam there without struggle or gagging. When Jared thrust the first time, inches Sam didn’t think possible disappeared into Dean’s mouth and there was finally an inhalation, unrestricted. Dean could stay like that, a too-tight sheath for Sam’s ugliness and desire.

Another slam against Dean’s ass and Dean twisted on Sam, gurgled a moan. Looked up at him, waited until Sam focused then lashed his tongue along the bottom of his cock and godfuck Dean wanted this? Needed it? Would it make this end sooner? Rougher—Jared said—maybe together they could fix Dean faster—

“Dean—”

He wanted to ask if that’s what it was, if it would work, if this was okay, but Dean was drooling, soaking his balls and letting Jared move him. Dragged off a few inches by the pull of the knot inside him, jolted forward as Jared rabbit-fucked into him, then Dean put his hand on Sam. Gripped his cock, overlapped their fingers, his other hand braced on Sam’s thigh and fuckohgod he was _sucking_. Lips wrapped tight, tongue flat and learning the thickest vein, humming like he couldn’t help it, almost purring, and Sam could feel the vibration up inside himself.

He babbled something, heard Jared chuckle and Dean gag slightly and tense up. Jared was shifting Dean again, forcing him down, spreading him out. One knee hitched up high and held there, and Dean tugged on Sam’s cock, keeping it in him as he was repositioned almost on his side. Moaned open-mouthed around Sam, stuffed his throat full as if to cut off the sound, embarrassed.

Another muffled moan as Jared caressed Dean’s chest, pulled hard at his nipples, stretched them like he was trying to milk him. Dean stirred Sam’s cock in his mouth, not really sucking anymore. Just smearing Sam around inside him as Jared teased his flesh red-sore and peaked.

And still holding Sam’s hand. More Sam’s fingers than his cock now, petting him and—it took Sam a moment to realise, fuck though, Dean was so distracting; (so calm, sated after finally coming, fucking eerily gorgeous twisted up, laying in Sam’s lap), stuffed full of cock at both ends by two identical men, one his baby brother, the other something from a different plane of existence—Dean was trying to get Sam to jack himself off.

“Fuck. Want me to come in your mouth, Dean?” The words were a revelation.

Dean’s throat-click swallow and lapping tongue were an answered prayer.

Jared wasn’t satisfied. “Say it, sweetheart. Tell him what he wants to hear.”

Then Jared made that almost impossible by putting his hand over Dean’s lower belly and thrusting. Changing position slightly, getting up on wide-spread knees and grinding down so he could feel his cock push through Dean into the palm of his hand.

A surprised-hurt gasp and Dean wrenched back from Sam’s cock. Not far; there was nowhere to go. Lipped his answer against the head of Sam’s dick. “Ah-ah-ah— _fuck_ , Alpha! Fuck— _Sam_. Come—c-c-c—fuck. My mouth—fuckin’ come ’n m- _mymouthfuck_ —”

“Good boy,” Jared cooed, fucking in hard-deep. “Gonna come in you too, baby. Right here,” he said, heel of his hand buried in Dean’s belly. “Right in your sweet little womb. Want that? Show me. Make it happen.” He bounced Dean forward with a small jolt of his hips. “Get that dick back in you, baby, c’mon, you know how to please your Alpha.”

And he did. Pulled himself closer to Sam (away from Jared, trying to get away, somehow Sam knew it), mouth open, seeking blindly until he had Sam back between his lips. Bulged his cheek with it trying to find the right angle to move. Grunted, defeated, when he couldn’t because Jared’s weight and hold on him was too controlling. He looked up at Sam, yielding.

Touching Dean’s face again, cupping his cheek and feeling his salted hair under his fingertips, the soft-wet glide of his lips against Sam’s thumb, it narrowed the world back down to just the two of them. For just a few seconds. He’d held Dean’s face when he’d kissed him. And when Dean had been hurt. Dead. Back from the dead.

All that jumbled together in Sam’s heart just touching him, a three-second pause of reality where everything was suddenly happening at once but there was always room for more.

Flattened his hand on Dean’s face. Covered his eyes for no reason (just to see them open back up and find Sam again immediately), pushed down on plump lips until Dean’s teeth were bared, until he could see into the wet hollow. Slipped his hand around the back of Dean’s head, held him there. Fucked up into his mouth, slow.

Stretched already, receptive and willing (his own words, _finally_ ), Dean took Sam into his throat again. And again, let Sam facefuck him without complaint or even a wince.

Sam wondered if the whole slick thing made a difference everywhere; Dean was drooling thick and sticky in moments. Globs of saliva clinging to Sam’s cock, pulled up from deep in Dean’s throat, scraped off by his stretched lips. Cooling on Sam’s balls, squishing between his fingers when he gripped the base tight so he could aim for the path of zero resistance.

Jared was muttering obscenities and praise, banging knees into Sam’s legs as he hunched in closer, bent Dean awkwardly between them so he could see the mess Dean was making.

Sam’s stomach fluttered when Jared leaned down, put his face close to Dean’s, near Sam’s cock, but he only spurred Dean on. Dean didn’t need it, really; he wouldn’t even have to taste his little brother’s come, Sam was so deep.

“Pretty boy, so pretty,” Jared breathed. “So pretty, Dean. Fuck.” And he sounded mean saying it, like he was taunting Dean. “Pretty omega, just fucking take that cock, baby—” every other word emphasised by a sharp jab into Dean from behind.

Fingers on Dean’s face, smearing spit, peeling at his mouth, sliding in and along Sam’s cock, and it was only fair—Sam had touched Jared’s already.

Fair, but not easy to deal with.

“Ohgoduh—”

Eyes closed, it was Jared’s low laugh huffed right against his lips that warned Sam. Warned him, but Jared kissed him hard enough Sam’s head thumped against the wall, and the way that spit-sticky hand dug into his hair and held him there told Sam there was nothing to do, nowhere to go; Jared didn’t want him to escape.

Tongue against his teeth, and Sam opened automatically to the cool, clean taste of Jared. Soft and wide, that tongue dipped into his mouth eagerly, flicked at his own and retreated several times before Sam chased it.

A weird angle and Sam couldn’t help the startled ( _scared_ ) noise he made when his tongue caught on Jared’s canine. Sharp and so fucking long, and…and numbing somehow? His tongue buzzed pleasantly but not before he tasted the tiniest hint of copper.

Then Jared rose up, slotted his mouth against Sam’s perfectly—of course they would fit like puzzle pieces, and of course Jared would hold onto Sam tight and tongue-fuck him just the way Sam had always (never until now but always) wanted.

Slippery, slow, clicking teeth occasionally when Dean made Sam forget what he was doing or when Jared pleasure-growled, it was good, and comfortable. Jared was closer somehow, or he’d pulled Sam away from the wall for a better hold on Sam’s head. Dragged wet lips across Sam’s cheek, tugged his head to the side so he could get to Sam’s ear with his tongue. Jared hummed softly there, lapped at Sam’s sweat and mouthed lower.

Caught up in it, distracted by the unexpected tenderness, he almost got bit. Shoved Jared just as his venomous fang-tips needled into his skin. Jared snarled as Sam palmed his face and forced him back, but he looked amused while Sam glared, chest heaving.

He leaned in again, slowly, watching Sam with grey-green and blue-amber eyes; his mouth twitched down in a contrite pout and he paused just near enough to Sam’s face it seemed natural to close his own eyes and tip into his kiss. Hesitant, softer, letting Sam decide the angle and depth—

Dean squirmed, bundled awkwardly between them. Pinned and filled up and crying around Sam’s cock, pawing needily at Jared, trying to get him to move, keep fucking him, complaining in consonants and if he could do that, Sam wasn’t deep enough either.

Pressure on his cock and Sam felt Dean buck on him. Felt Jared’s hand on Dean’s head forcing him down again. Jared panted a laugh into Sam’s mouth when Sam groaned, then gave Dean what he wanted.

Hard, fast. Bruising lips and sharing breath, holding Dean down between them, ignoring his scratching and whining, fucking him out of rhythm with each other, they made him come again for his bitching. Sam felt it soak his leg, cursed when it happened because Dean seemed to want more and more, swallowed Sam’s cock to the root as he arched, taking Jared’s vicious pounding like he deserved it.

They came together, Sam and the Alpha, Dean limp and exhausted and only able to take what was happening inside him, another triggered orgasm noticeable by his scent becoming thick and syrupy in their mouths as they gasped, kissed again.

Sam leaned against the wall, shaking, still jetting come down his brother’s throat as Jared curled over Dean. Claimed him again, drew blood with those fangs Sam had finally learned to avoid with his tongue. Dean was delirious when Jared dragged him back, tied to him.

Sam moved to the blanketed floor just to be able to stretch out, and Jared rolled Dean so Sam could touch him if he wanted to. He wanted to, and did eventually. Held Dean’s wrist when Dean seemed to be seeking him out, eyes not really open, grasping towards where he had to know Sam was by scent if nothing else. Felt the tremors of Jared’s gentle moves inside Dean.

They got Dean to eat too, an hour later. And Sam wiped him down in the bathroom after that, and held Dean against his chest while Jared fucked him once more. And again.

Sam left the room to check on Jensen. Knelt by the sleeping omega for a while, covered him up. Would have stayed there by him if there had been room, but the makeshift bed was more comfortable and Dean had grumbled when Sam had gotten up to leave even though Jared was inside him at the time.

So Sam went back to the couple. Laid down near them and Dean bit his lips closed and reached for Sam again when Jared let his wrists go.


	10. Chapter 10

Sam woke up to Dean crawling over him, quiet, careful, like the dawn creeping over a battlefield. He was all big brother weight and shivering-leaf hands. Eyes shut, lips the same, his heart hammered under Sam’s palm when Dean curled against him, little-spoon, and pressed it to his chest, his skin so, so hot. Dean fit into the curve of Sam’s body like a pearl in a shell, something rough and beautiful that was as much part of Sam as his own muscles and memories.

Dean was quaking, straining, going hard soft hard in Sam’s arms and Sam tried to soothe him, stroke him. Shoulder, arm, ribs, hip. Belly and cock, both slippery.

“I got you, Dean. Hey, it’s okay. Shh,” he mouthed against the nape of Dean’s neck, but it wasn’t working. Dean was writhing, wriggling, and Sam would have to’ve been dead not to be aroused by the frantic way he was moving, shoving himself against Sam the same as he’d done with Jared, and there was no disguising how Sam felt, and oh. Oh, it’s what Dean _wanted_.

The space between their bodies cooled, prickled Sam’s skin when Dean arched his back, hooked a heel through Sam’s legs and worked himself down over Sam’s cock. Dean should have felt destroyed, used and loose, but he didn’t. Was rope burn tight and hot down Sam’s length, but fuck, _fuck_ , he was soft inside and Sam wanted to push forever, get into him balls and all.

Dean was silent but for his breath rasping in the back of his throat. Sam put his hand there, up under Dean’s jaw, just to feel his pulse, to smear his fingers over Dean’s mouth and tongue, wet at both ends, and he licked at Sam’s hand.

“Jesus,” Sam whispered. “ _Fuck_ ,” he breathed when Dean began to move, tiny thrusts that barely had him gliding on and off Sam. “ _Dean_. Wait—” _Don’t stop, so good, shut up, Sam!_ “—you don’t want this. Don’t have to—”

“Shut up, Sam,” Dean hissed, turned his face up, eyes leaking like his cock. “I _do_. Want you. Don’t let go. Don’t go. Sorry, baby, Sammy, ’m sorry. Want you, just you. Can’t stop, but, just, fuck, just you—”

Dean sucked Sam’s fingers when Sam put them in his mouth to quiet him.

There was no movement from the bed. Sam thought maybe he could stop Dean before Jared woke up and it started all over again. He wasn’t sure he could take it—watching Dean come undone over and over, listening to him beg and whimper like he was near death and desperate to live, unsure if Jared was a murderer or savior.

Dean was sucking on him, fucking him for the first time and it felt so damn good, screwing like nervous teenagers at a sleepover, barely moving but god that made Sam feel _everything_ , every centimeter of hot tight drag and pull on his cock and Dean’s slick trickling over his balls and thighs. Lips and teeth holding his fingers gently, tongue fat and soaking when Sam dug into it and that made Dean complain, made him shudder, undulate and fucking fuck being quiet, and fuck letting Jared have his brother after this, there was no way, no fucking way. Sam had to stop this. He’d save Dean from this.

First Sam had to fuck him.

That Dean struggled, gagged ‘no’ around Sam’s fingers when Sam moved them, flipped Dean and jerked him onto his hands and knees, only reaffirmed Sam’s decision. And Sam loved that Dean _was_ fighting, that there was enough difference between him and Jared that Dean _could_ struggle. Not that it would do him any good, and fuck _fuck_ , getting his cock back inside Dean while he bucked, holding him still by the hip when Dean tried to flatten himself back on the floor, feeling Dean tense around him, and the frustrated little sob he made when he just had to take it, had to let Sam split him open in front of Jared, fuck, it was perfect.

Jared was awake, Sam saw. Probably since Dean left his side. Staring at Dean, lust like gasoline fumes in his eyes and Sam dared to spark it. Put his forehead against Dean’s spine, head tilted so he could watch Jared, and he dragged himself into Dean like thumb over striker, just to see if Jared would catch or if he would let this happen without detonating.

Realised he would fight Jared for Dean—should have this whole time.

No. No, because if it came to that—

Sam didn’t want to force him, but it had to be Dean’s choice.

“Just me, Dean?” he whispered into his brother’s ear. Dean flinched but nodded, grabbed Sam’s wrists and held on, panting wordlessly. “You have to tell him—if he—tell him no.”

“Uh! F-fuck. Sam, yeah—”

Good enough. For now. And Jared wasn’t moving. Maybe he’d heard them. Probably had; at least Dean and what he’d first said to Sam, but it didn’t seem likely that he’d stay where he was for long.

Distracted for a second, Sam relaxed his position and Dean found room to skid his knees back. Fell flat and Sam went with him, full body. Covered Dean completely, and the harder he pushed, the sweeter Dean’s scent became, richer and more complex. Sam shook Dean’s grip off his wrists and let all his weight down. Pinned Dean under his two hundred pounds and held onto his forearms, used his toes to thrust himself forward, deep.

It was Dean’s spine digging into his chest that made him push off after not too long. Lifted up on one elbow and used his free hand to learn Dean’s body. He knew it already. Knew the scars, the hurt places. Where bones had been broken and skin lacerated. Stab wounds. And he knew him naked, long before now. Had peeled bloody, rent clothes from Dean and seen everything that was left lifeless and delicate and dead. And he’d had Jensen to learn from, to pretend with.

But this was _Dean_. _Alive_. And Sam was _touching him_. Was _inside him_.

Sam skimmed his hand along Dean’s shoulder, curled it around his neck. He’d had Dean’s throat in his hands before, definitely. Had thought about killing him like that.

“I love you,” Sam sighed against Dean’s cheek. Weird-dark eyes big and wincing, breathing slack-jawed with so much weight on him, Dean could only reciprocate with noises, with fists clenching and unclenching in the blankets.

Sam could feel all of Dean’s ribs, his hips sharp through his skin, could press hard into the meat of his ass and feel bones, and yeah he had to—that pushed out belly under his palm when he cupped the softness just above Dean’s pelvis. Dean was full only because Sam was filling him.

They’d gotten him to eat, but not a lot. Jensen was so finicky about food, Jared must have thought it normal when Dean began to thin down. And the heat drained all the water weight from him, left him just skin and bones and a wild heartbeat and a thick cock Sam had seen in his dreams (he could remember that now), the only fat thing about him. Even his ego had been reduced; begging, pleading, nothing but vulnerability and desperation.

He was still strong, though. Rolling his hips up against Sam, twisting around, a hand in Sam’s hair now trying to drag him down to kiss. So sweet, that kiss. Not the action—that was biting and sucking and Dean groaning into his mouth, but he tasted like hard cider and honeycomb and something bitter that Sam recognised as his own come.

Not Jared’s. He’d only come with his cock in Dean’s ass. In his _womb_ , Jared had said.

Sam had gotten Jensen pregnant.

The sudden urge to do the same thing to Dean blindsided Sam. He growled into the kiss and slammed Dean back down flat, his body working machine-glide and efficient to get them there.

“Fuckohgod—”

He couldn’t— _would not_ —do that to Dean. Probably impossible anyway and plus what if it messed him up somehow? Jensen was designed to do it (and Sam realised he still had no real idea how it worked) but this wasn’t Dean’s natural state and fucking hopefully he wouldn’t _stay_ this way. Which meant if it happened and Dean recovered from the drugs, then—

Dean was staring back at him, dazzling eyes wide with astonishment and Sam felt himself blush red and searing because Dean had to know what he was feeling and he was trying with all his might to bend himself, get his ass up, fucking _wanted_ Sam to fuck him and come inside him and—

“Sammy, _fuck_ —”

If Dean kept talking he was gonna say it and that was the last thing Sam wanted to hear. He wanted to hear it. Wanted Dean to call him Alpha and beg to take his come. He wanted to get his teeth in Dean and claim him and feel him limp and open under him, but he didn’t want it to be that way _forever._ Just _now_ , just because it was happening anyway.

He didn’t _really_ want Dean like this. He didn’t. He didn’t, but fuck Dean felt so good quivering under him, making high pitched little whines through his nose, his eyes rolling back as Sam pounded into him. Put his forehead to the mattress and Sam could see bite marks on both shoulders. Bruises and rents and holes; one was still seeping, the most recent and Dean moaned as Sam bent him back to get to the mark. Latched on, his teeth lining up perfectly with the indentations except where he was lacking the fangs to get in deep.

He bit down anyway. Dean squealed, loud, but his asshole went tight and slick around Sam’s cock as he sucked at the marks like a snake bite, like he could draw the Alpha’s poison out of Dean’s veins.

Dean was pulling on his hair still, keeping Sam’s head down, his teeth in him. Thrashing, splaying his legs open wide, his hips up, and there was not another inch Sam could give him but Dean seemed desperate for more. For a knot to come on. Wanted to come with Sam inside him so bad he was almost fighting instead of fucking.

A low rumbled-something from Jared, and Sam shook off Dean’s hold on his hair, unclenched his teeth just short of drawing more blood. The Alpha was sitting up, his scent sharp and resinous, irritating to Sam’s nose. Angry, jealous, territorial. To Dean, it must have been crushing. He let out a loud, distressed breath and buried his face in his arm.

He wasn’t going to be able to do it, tell Jared no if— _when_ —Jared tried to mate with him again.

Mate. That’s what Jensen had called Jared. What Dean had to pretend to be to the Alpha for the last year. It’s what they were _doing_ to Dean. Mating. Breeding him like an animal.

That surge of lust again, so intense it almost hurt, zipping down Sam’s spine and making his head fuzzy, his vision bright. It hadn’t felt like this when Jensen had been in heat. It had been good, addictive and exciting, but the pleasure hadn’t felt _violent_. Excessive and consuming and _important_. This was important. More than only lust. Bigger than love. Nothing could ever be so crucial. Nothing fit like this, nothing was so right as being this close to Dean, and Sam hated that whatever it was between them was tainted with Dean’s pain. With torture and fear and chemicals; that Dean wasn’t sharing this with Sam willingly, was being driven to it by something done to him by a monster.

Sam hated that it wasn’t going to stop him, either.

“No, no—” Dean cried when he felt Sam shift back, but Sam was only making room. He knew just what to do, where to touch, hoped that Dean was as sensitive as Jensen.

Slipping over the taut-soft lip of Dean’s hole ( _wombcuntomegabreedfillfuck_ ), Sam shoved his fingers into Dean, who took them with only a single shudder. His prostate was right there, swollen, and Sam split his fingers around it, pinching and rolling the rough-tender spot, thumb jammed up hard into Dean’s taint as if he could pluck it like fruit.

And just like he wanted, Dean melted. Put a hand over his own mouth, shaking like when he’d first touched Sam. Gave up pushing back, spreading himself; nothing but supple flesh, malleable and sweet in Sam’s mouth as he dipped down and kissed his brother’s cheek, his eye, his throat. Scraped teeth over those sore shoulders again, all the while working his fingers carefully inside Dean.

Movement from the bed, but Sam was only minutely distracted; Jared moving closer, but not touching. That was fine. If he wanted to get close and watch Dean, Sam would allow it. Another male, sniffing about his mate—fuck, his _brother._ His lover.

Sam almost closed his eyes against the stinging of Jared’s scent, but he couldn’t pretend they were alone, and Dean whimpered when the Alpha came into view. Leaned over and gently pried Dean’s hand away from his face. Said something to Dean; Sam heard it and didn’t care. Just more gentle taunts, teasing encouragement. But it was disturbing Dean, making him tense again, nervous. He tried to turn his face from Jared, was held down by his cheek and Sam saw Dean’s hands fist up, not allowed to push Jared away.

“ _Back off_.”

Jared glanced at Sam, who half expected a smirk or a snarl, but all he got was stared at for a few seconds. Then, astonishingly, Jared retreated. Not far; went to his knees, stroked his dick absently. Kept watching Sam.

It should have unsettled Sam, but the rush of adrenaline he felt at being obeyed made him feel powerful, like he’d finally won a battle he’d been fighting for a lifetime. He’d lost his rhythm though, and Dean squirming under him brought back focus.

“Up,” he urged. Wrapped an arm around Dean’s waist and lifted him to his knees again. Slipped out of him, fingers and cock, as they moved and Dean whipped his head around, betrayal in his dark eyes.

Dean’s sulk disappeared when Sam stuffed four fingers and then half his hand inside him. Used that same hand to push Dean forward and down to his chest, shook him by it to get his knees wider so he could fit his cock over the back of his hand. Curled his fingers almost into a fist and knuckled across that tender spot as he began pumping his hips.

From loose and receptive to cinch-tight instantly and Sam barely managed to get his other hand on Dean’s cock before he came. Didn’t even have time to stroke it, could only hold on as it jerked and throbbed, emptied that clear, sweet omega-come on the ruined blankets. Sam sucked it off his fingers, snatched Dean’s cock again and squeezed, made his brother stutter-howl and buck, then go silent and attentive when Sam tucked his thumb up and tried to force his hand into Dean.

No room, but Dean was willing to let him try.

Sam remembered what he’d sworn to himself just in time. Wrenched back as his own orgasm clawed through him.

Dean sobbed, actually crying like he was hurt, wounded, as Sam’s come splashed up his back, but Sam could barely understand past _a little more-take it-I can knot you just the same_ , breathless and fixated on Dean _almost_ being able to take his fist. He could do it, he could make Dean come like this, could do more, could be his Alpha, fuck him through his heat—

Jared’s hand glossed up Dean’s ribs, smeared Sam’s come, rubbed it into Dean’s skin. He gathered some of it up in his fingers like frosting and brought it to Dean’s mouth. Fed it to him, interrupted Dean’s unhappy jabbering.

A grateful, greedy hum as Dean sucked those fingers clean. Kept his mouth open when Jared went back for more. Rocked back onto Sam’s hand, slipped a little more onto it, when Jared kissed him with his fingers already in Dean’s mouth. Sharing Sam’s come.

Sam’s heart was pounding, his hand aching, and when Jared started petting Dean’s shoulders, his back, was moving closer as if he wanted to get between him and Sam, it almost seemed like a good idea to fit the rest of his fist into Dean. Lock Jared out.

They couldn’t do this. Couldn’t fight over Dean. Or pass him back and forth. Maybe Jared didn’t care, maybe he was oblivious to it, and Sam knew Dean wanted _something_ , but this wasn’t it.

Dean cried out into Jared’s mouth when Sam withdrew his hand. Moved from behind Dean, but not away. To his side, blocking Jared’s intentions. Bumped against Dean so he was forced to balance himself, lift up and face them.

He could barely do it, and Sam’s chest ached at how worn-out Dean looked. He was doing that thing—almost asleep, just like that, his orgasm knocking him out, keeping him safe with his Alpha. Only he wasn’t really. Safe or with _his_ Alpha. They were wrecking him, no matter how Dean had protested earlier. Biting, scarring, stretching. Coercing and forcing him to do things Dean would _never_ agree to sober. Probably not, anyway.

Sam grabbed Dean’s wrist as he swayed, squeezed it hard. Dean grunted in pain and opened his eyes wide, flicked them at Sam but then Jared moved towards him and even though the word was barely one, mostly just lip-shape and a shake of his head, Dean’s ‘no’ stopped the Alpha.

Jared cocked his head like an animal, and there were the fangs, bared slowly. He took in Sam’s hold on Dean and glared when Sam released it only to have Dean seek Sam right back out. Not-quite holding hands, but close enough. But the glare had nothing backing it. Jared slumped down all at once, ground the heels of his hands into both eyes, licked his lips, took a deep breath and leaned forwards so fast Dean flinched back and Sam raised a hand. But:

“Get out. Go. _Now_ , Dean,” he snapped when Dean froze, stammered, “Jare—” as if he needed to immediately apologise.

Sam got to his feet, dragged Dean up with him.

“C’mon,” he murmured, keeping Jared in the corner of his eye as he pulled Dean from the room behind him. Jared watched for a few seconds before he turned and lay back down, rolled so his back was to them.

Sam snatched a bag off the floor as they left the room, half-stuffed with clean clothes. He tossed it into the bathroom and pushed Dean in after it. Closed the door behind them and turned on the shower. Cold; he knew it was all that Dean would be able to stand. And not even that. Dean ended up on his knees under the spray, Sam crouched behind him and rubbing a suddenly-disgusting smelling bar of soap over Dean’s bruised body. Lathered his hair and rinsed foam and bubbles off his lazy-thick cock and balls, lifted his arms to clean him there too. Had to smack his cheek gently to get his eyes open again after washing his face.

Sam managed to get him out of the shower and in control of a towel while he sped through a cursory scrub of himself, then had to finish Dean’s job anyway. He fished out clothes for himself. Guided and poured Dean into underwear and jeans, a tee shirt, all the while dismissing the voice in his head remarking how absurd and wrong it was to be _dressing_ this omega.

Dean stared up at him like there was nothing else in the world worth watching, and Sam doubted if he let Dean close his eyes he’d be able to answer where he even was. And it was hard to look away from _him_ too. Under normal circumstances, Dean’d be telling him to take a picture right now, but the only response to Sam’s scrutiny was a slow flush, saucered pupils.

Kissing him seemed the appropriate thing to do, Sam’s brain telling him casually that Dean _needed_ it. And the way he took Sam’s tongue into his mouth, how he leaned into Sam’s hold on his face and made a soft, pleased moan proved it. He was hard against Sam’s hip, but as Sam’s hands wandered across his brother’s body, the rest of Dean tensed up.

“What are we doing, Dean?” he asked, not really expecting an answer.

“Whatever you want.”

But it was a question. And when Sam sighed and moved to open the door, Dean skittered back a step, his scent going burnt-sugar in alarm.

“I’m not taking you—back. To…him. I’m not. Dean, it’s okay.”

Dean nodded, then frowned. “B-but. Maybe. I should. I-I _should_. He’s—I—”

This was going to be impossible with them in the same house. There would be no rational decisions from any of them, and it wasn’t fair to Dean.

Sam knew those things, and part of him still didn’t care.

Dean was hurt, was all fucked up and this was barely consensual and Sam knew Jared was something irresistible to Dean, and if not forcing him, then encouraging him, stoking the fire inside him. Sam was so afraid it was going to consume Dean completely. That he would never be who he was before this happened to him. Before Jared made him be who he wasn’t.

But that wasn’t fair, either. Jared hadn’t known the whole truth. Dean had constructed an elaborate fantasy life to keep his sanity intact and Jared hadn’t _made_ him do that. Dean could have figured anything else out, but that’s how he had chosen to cope. Fuck, how fucked up were they that Dean’s main anchor to reality had been pretending to be in love with his brother?

Sam had done something not too dissimilar.

He took Dean’s wrist again, ignored the way his heart thumped when Dean met him halfway, ignored the outstretched fingers. Led them from the bathroom and into the kitchen. Sat him down, away from Jared’s blood, and pulled a chair around to sit next to him.

When Sam opened his mouth to speak, Dean said, “You don’t want me.” Without waiting for an answer, Dean crumbled in on himself. Bowed his head like he’d done something wrong, like when Dad would scold him and Dean wanted to hide his shame, his tears.

“Dean,” Sam said slowly, “listen to me. I don’t want to _do this_ to you. I think you should go. With Cas. He’ll keep you safe until you’re better. Staying here is not making you better, and, and I fuckin’ can’t stay away from you, and you know it, so I need you to go. You’re my big brother, and it’s me and you ’til the end, alright?” Dean’s head came up at that. “But you’re not you. This is not who you are. I got you back, but right now, you’re not my brother. You might think you want this, but you don’t. Not now, not this way.”

“Yeah. Okay, Sammy,” he mumbled. Shivered and wiped at tears before they made it down his face. Put his hands back in his lap.

“ _Now_ , Dean.” Too late realising what he’d just said, Sam softened his voice, touched Dean’s knee gently. “Call Cas. Do you want me to?” he offered.

“N-no. No. I’ll do it.” Dean shifted nervously. Pressed up into Sam’s hand, and this had to stop.

“Here.” Sam stood abruptly and plucked his phone from the counter. It had half a charge after being neglected for the last couple days, but it would do. He placed it on the table within Dean’s reach. “In case you have to actually _call_ him call him.”

Dean looked at the phone, then up at Sam. “But… Just...what about...Jared? He won’t—Sam, I can’t, uh. If I go near him—”

“I’ll tell him.”

Dean closed his eyes, tight like he was hurting. Probably was, and Sam knew he could make Dean feel better with a touch. Nearness, kisses, sex.

Backing away from Dean was physically painful, the awareness of the heat coursing through Dean commanding Sam’s body to capture, hold, take. Sam bit down on the inside of his cheek and spun on his heel, threw himself out of the kitchen and down the hall.

He wanted to wait until Dean was gone to explain to Jared that Dean had left. Prayed that Cas would hurry up so the Alpha wouldn’t come looking for Dean before that happened. Prayed _to_ Cas as well. Couldn’t hurt.

He heard his phone ring, and hovered in the hallway, straining to hear if it was who he hoped it was. Dean stopped the ringing and mumbled a greeting. Silence. Then a few more words from Dean and then the thump of someone else’s boots on the floor. Sam’s stomach hollowed out as the reality of Dean leaving hit him.

Sam could go back, say hello to Cas as an excuse to be near Dean again, but that would only make things harder. And Sam knew what Dean hadn’t quite said: Jared wouldn’t let Dean leave. Not willingly.

The Alpha was in the bedroom. Sam didn’t know what to do. Stood in the doorway looking at this displaced, tweaked version of himself.

“Hey, Sam,” Jared said, eyes closed.

He looked exhausted. Bruised around the eyes, lips pale. The room was heavy with his scent, made the air thick, like a distant thunderstorm coming across the desert. He’d flipped the mattress over and was sprawled across it in Sam’s well-worn pajama bottoms and one of the white tees the brothers kept for wearing under their button-downs. Hands resting on his chest, he looked like he might be asleep. The lights were off but there was still daylight sneaking in even at close to nine at night.

Jared rolled his head. “What’s the matter?”

Sam said nothing.

Jared shifted, brought his knees up and scooted so he could rest his head against the wall. Made space on the bed for Sam.

Even as it shocked Sam, he took a step into the room. A couple more and Jared closed his eyes again, a smile plucking at the corners of his mouth. Sam looked for the irony there, for a challenge anywhere on Jared’s face, in his posture. Found nothing, scented nothing.

He almost crawled onto the bed, but then Jared’s eyes opened, flicked over Sam’s shoulder. He tensed, tips of his canines sliding into view, and Sam didn’t have to turn to know who was behind him.

“Uh, hey. Is my—I need the wallet. In my pants.” Dean was in the doorway, pointing to a pile of clothes at Sam’s heels.

Jared was on his feet instantly. “Where are you going?” he demanded, and Sam was glad he was between the Alpha and Dean.

“Jared,” Sam started, bending and snagging the jeans

“He can’t go! What is—he’s going to go _alone_?”

Sam put a hand out, placating. “No, he’s going with Cas.”

Jared snarled, “Who the _fuck_ is _Cas_?”

“Sammy, here.” Dean had Jimmy Novak’s ID between his fingers, held out to Sam. “Show him.”

Sam took the card, and Dean took a half-step back, put himself behind the doorframe slightly. Sam looked at the card, then back at his brother, but Dean’s expression was unreadable. Chaotic. A tiny nod was all Sam got. He turned and passed the ID to Jared, who snatched it from Sam. He glared at it for a moment and then it was as if he had been hit from behind, hard. He rocked forward, almost curled over the card. A hand went to his mouth, barely muffled what Sam could only describe as a whimper. That hand went to his chest, his heart, and he looked up at Dean.

“What— _no._ Dean? Is this—is he—he’s _alive_?” The desperation, the _want_ , was practically agony if Jared’s face, his suddenly glossy eyes, were any indication. “Here? Can…can I see him?”

Dean swallowed hard, didn’t come out from behind the doorway. “He’s not alive, Jared. He’s not Jimmy anymore. He’s our friend, Castiel.”

“Then what is this? What the fuck?”

“He won’t be able to see Cas,” Sam said carefully.

“I know,” Dean replied. “I asked Jensen if he’d met Cas yet. He told me. Jared, I’m sorry. I can’t explain right now. Maybe Sam can. But I’m going. I’ll be fine.”

Jared was clutching the ID with both hands, openly crying now, and Sam didn’t understand but he knew Dean needed to leave. He took a step and reached for the ID. Had to tug it out of Jared’s fingers.

“I don’t understand,” came a heartbroken mutter. Jared’s eyes tracked the card back to Dean. His mouth twitched. Bared fangs. “You _can’t_ go. Not—not with _him._ Whoever that is. Dean, don’t. He’s not… He, he—Dean, he _killed_ himself! You’re not safe with him!”

“Jared, it’s not like that—” Sam tried.

“ _What the fuck do you know_?” Jared roared at him.

Sam flinched back, and Dean did too, flinched and fled. Sam heard him practically run from Jared’s rage, heard him call for Cas. The front door banged. Sam never took his eyes off Jared, stepped back when he came towards him but went no further when Jared’s posture dropped. He seemed to almost shrink.

“Where’s Jensen?” Jared asked, the words all strung together in his throat.

“Still asleep.” Had to be; he would’ve come to Jared if he’d heard him yell like that.

Jared lurched forward and Sam thought he might fall, but he kept his feet. Dean was gone, so there was no reason to try to stop Jared from leaving. Sam followed him anyway. Down the hall and to the living room.

Jared lowered himself to his knees next to the sleeping omega and laid gently across Jensen’s body. Curled his arms around him, buried his face into his shoulder. Jensen shifted and made a drowsy murmur but stayed asleep.

Feeling like an intruder, seeing that Jared wasn’t going to—Sam didn’t know, exactly, but he’d been worried. Afraid for Jared. Not of him, he realised as he turned to go. He’d never really been afraid Jared would hurt _him_. And he doubted now there was anything for Jared to be upset at Jensen for. It was all irreversible at this point. Dean was out of the house, Jensen was here and pregnant, and both he and Jared were _here_ , permanently.

Sam had faith Jared could get through this, whatever it was he was feeling. He might need help, but right now all he seemed to want was to be near Jensen. Sam understood that completely.


	11. Chapter 11

It was eerie; as if Dean had been the very heartbeat of the house, it settled into a moribund quiet, losing heat as the hours slunk past midnight. Anxiety kept Jared awake and he listened as Sam scratched around the kitchen for a while before going through the front door and around the side of the house.

Jared peered out the window, watching Sam as he fished through a freezer under a moth-flicker light, then stood with an armful of cold groceries and looked at the big black car parked in the driveway. He cocked his head like he was surprised it was there. Maybe it was Dean’s car, and Sam had expected him to take it.

_I chased Dean away. Drove them apart._

He hurt everywhere, but especially his heart. The stone nestled there for so long had cracked open to reveal something weak and straining to keep rhythm. Maybe all the times he’d willed it just to fucking stop already, give up and give in, maybe that had crippled him instead of killing him like he’d wished would happen. He was sure he’d loved Jensen with his whole heart; no wonder the omega now loved someone else. Jared’s heart was disgusting. Useless and cruel and cowardly.

Not fierce like Dean’s, or steadfast like this Sam’s. Not even as brave as Jensen’s. Dean and Jensen… Jared should have known. Should have recognised the loss of his real omega, but he’d just ignored the fresh ache inside him, practiced in the art. Jensen had been the whetstone sharpening that talent for years.

It wasn’t blame, that thought. Jared glanced over his shoulder to Jensen, passed out on the couch, his toes twitching in his sleep. Making his own second heartbeat because Jared’s had been too dull and erratic to find any comfort in. He loved Jensen, and a few times had even let that love hurt him like it should have.

It should have. And these two brothers proved it. Fuck, how they loved each other. Jared had felt it from his first bloody, ragged breath in this world. Dean had been _elated_ to see Sam. Dean’s heart had known no shame in its joy and terror and no difference between the two. Dean had wept even as he’d geared himself up to murder anyone or (Jared had a faint idea now) any _thing_ that had hurt Sam in the interim of his absence. The scent Jared had become accustomed to had instantly developed intricacies and depth in Sam’s presence that Jared was sure he would never have known on his own.

And Sam might as well have been holding his heart in his own hands, an offering to his brother.

Jared had carefully guarded his, as if it would be useful some day, in some other way than loving _now_. He’d never loved, by comparison. He had only known fear. Fear of commitment, fear of rejection, fear of loss.

He let that word sneak up on him, slip like a knife into his back. _Fear._

It was not enough that he’d forgiven himself because, like any apology, it meant nothing unless you knew what you were apologising _for._

It hadn’t been a conscious decision to let fear run his life. He didn’t know when it had started. He’d been angry for as long as he could remember. Losing his mother. Being dragged around by his father, forced to leave behind friends and belongings. Only taking with him memories he couldn’t share with anyone else.

Isolation.

Maybe that’s what had done it. Transformed that anger into fear. And he’d built a life around it.

Loving his step-brother had fit in so perfectly, become the foundation, really.

Talk about _fear._

He’d been so young, afraid of his feelings and his body and sex and being found out. The more time he’d spent with him the more he realised something was wrong with Jimmy. And who could he turn to that would understand, could help? Absolutely no one.

Then Jimmy died.

Anger.

Jensen.

Fuck, talk about fear and isolation.

Anger at the fucking universe for giving him the most wonderful gift, completely broken in its package.

Ugly laughter boiled up from his throat. Jared clapped a hand over his own mouth, terrified of the sound. Realised he was standing in the dark, that he’d shut his eyes at some point, had fallen into an almost-dream state with his memories.

“Jared?”

He whipped around. Sam was in the room now; Jared had been so lost he hadn’t even heard him come back inside. Close to Jared…but closer to Jensen. Of course he would be. Had come to check on the omega. Jensen and their baby. Jared let that thought twist freely inside his skin for the first time; just stood there looking back at Sam, his hand still over his mouth. Hiding a snarl, a challenge he knew he wouldn’t win. Jealousy and betrayal thrashed through his guts, razor blade sharp.

Sam’s brow creased, his lips compressed into a thin line, and Jared wondered how he appeared to this man. Something raw and weak. Lewd and controlling. Laughable. Empty. Lost.

“Hey,” Sam said. He shuffled without going anywhere, something Jared had broken himself of in the courtroom. “Dean… He’s gonna be okay with—with Cas.”

Jared wanted to curl his fingers, dig in, rip his own face off. He dropped his hand, said nothing in reply. What could he say? Dean was already gone, and this _Cas_ wasn’t his Jimmy, so. Sam seemed to trust the situation, and Jared had no choice in the matter.

Sam was watching him, a surprising amount of compassion in his eyes, in the overripe sweetness of his scent. “Can I get you anything? Are you hungry?”

“I’m not anything,” slipped out of his mouth, and he found he wasn’t embarrassed by the words. They weren’t heavy, emotional, self-pitying. They were the truth and it was a little comforting to finally admit it to himself.

Sam’s frown deepened. He shuffled again, then looked down at Jensen, still asleep. It hadn’t surprised Jared that Jensen had checked out after what had happened. He wished he could regret pushing the omega into sex like that…but it had hurt exactly the way he’d wanted to.

Jared never would have done such a thing at any other time.

Time… It had only taken Jensen two months to get over him. Less time, really. He’d probably used the first excuse available to mate with Sam. And why not? Sam _was_ Jared, without their fucked up history.

So it hadn’t mattered, fucking him with Sam.

Seeing them together, feeling the tenderness and protection just _radiating_ from this other him for the omega between them. It had hurt, and Jared had wanted to be hurt by it.

“Maybe you should sit down.”

Jared blinked, focused on Sam with effort, realised he’d been staring at some point halfway to him. He moved to a chair at the end of the couch only because Sam took a step towards him and if he got any closer—if he _touched_ Jared…

‘Shatter’, ‘crumble’, ‘dissolve’. Like Jared had suddenly become (always been) delicate, fragile. Cracked. Barely holding together.

The chair smelled like Dean.

Hand over his mouth again, eyes closed. The tears surprised him. Never much of a crier. Jensen was always weeping. Jared had cried, sure… When things had been too much. Now, though… He wasn’t anything.

They trickled across the back of his hand steadily, nonetheless. Wet his chin, his throat. Sam did touch him, and he didn’t fall apart. He wanted to bat Sam’s hand away, but found he couldn’t move. After reacting to bad instincts his whole life, his body was finally ignoring him.

Sam wasn’t a threat, anyway. Something soft was dabbing at his hand and Jared slitted one eye open to see. A tissue, and Sam showed the wet side to him. Faintly pink, bloody. Sam offered him the tissue pack and Jared blew his nose. A lot more blood. Clotted, but still.

“Maybe we could get you to Dr. Robert,” Sam muttered, made a face at the idea. “So used to Cas being able to heal us…”

“Who is he?” Jared heard himself ask. He didn’t really want to know. Didn’t want to _have_ to know.

Sam dragged Bobby’s desk chair around so he could face Jared as he spoke. “Jared…me and Dean, we’ve got a really weird life.”

And Jared tried, he really did, to understand what Sam told him. Monsters, ghosts. Magic and spells. God and demons and angels.

“Cas, he’s Dean’s best friend, really. He cares a lot about us. Fuck, he’s died a bunch of time for us. Saved us too. I…never really thought about it I guess, but he’s given up everything for us. Rebelled against everything he believed in to help us. He’s part of our family.”

At that, Jared had to laugh even as his hair prickled along his arms. Sam raised his eyebrows. Might as well say it; not like Sam could judge him. “Makes sense why Dean said I should have stayed with Jimmy. Brother-fucking must be a kink for him.”

Sam made a face and Jared thought it was a little pathetic the man could even pretend to be offended, but it was probably the rude way he’d said it that bothered Sam. He seemed sensitive, easy going and unprejudiced. Jared was getting pissed off again. The usual suspects were trying to dig themselves out of the hopeless pit he’d sunk into since Dean left.

“Have they?” he asked. “Dean and the angel. Fucked?”

“Uh, no. I think it’s crossed Dean’s mind. And now—”

Jared cut him off. “Why can’t I see him? If, if J-Jimmy is a vessel and Cas is something else, why can’t I at least see _Jimmy_?” Jealousy was confusing the anger, putting a tremor of grief in his voice.

Sam leaned towards him and Jared growled. Just like every other fucking thing in his life, he didn’t really _mean to_ , but he did and Sam stopped halfway, bent forwards, his face tilted up. He didn’t seem afraid, and that softened Jared. Sam wasn’t reflecting fear or anger back at him.

Maybe there was hope…

“I thought you might wanna drink.” Still looking up at him, Sam reached down next to Jared’s leg and plucked up a bottle from the floor.  

Jared needed a drink, badly. He only hesitated for a split second before he accepted the bottle, a few inches of whiskey left in it.

It was like kissing Dean all over again when he put it to his lips.

Sam waited to answer his question until he had a drink himself. Jared saw him surreptitiously wipe his thumb over the mouth before doing so. Sam said, “I guess because Cas has been remade so many times. By God. I don’t know if you could see any vessel, to be honest, but at this point Jimmy’s gone. Cas told us so. Jimmy’s in Heaven and his body belongs to Cas.”

“Jimmy died to let Cas use him?” Jared asked, a little calmer, looking vacantly at the bottle back in his hands.

“Well, not at first. Angels have to ask permission from their vessels. Demons don’t, they just take you if they want, unless you’re protected. We’ll have to get you tattooed, by the way. But…something bad happened to Cas and he had to leave Jimmy. The demons found out who Jimmy was and tracked him down. Hurt his family. Killed his wife. Wounded him. He wouldn’t have survived if Cas hadn’t taken him back. And then once, um, Lucifer…Cas’ brother, Lucifer, killed him… Made me kill him—”

“What?”

“It’s a long story. But Cas was trying to help us, and I— _Lucifer_ killed him. Using my body. Cas should have been gone forever, but God brought him back, and Jimmy’s been gone since then.”

The whiskey buzzed through his system, made a joke out of his horror. “Guess it has to be that way no matter what, huh?”

“What way?”

“I killed Jimmy too.”

Sam jolted forward in his chair, made an aborted motion with his arm as if he’d intended to touch Jared again. Instead, he pressed his fingers to his lips for a moment before nodding to himself. “Oh. Jared, I’m sorry. What happened? I mean, if, if you can—want to, um—”

Jared told him. Mechanically, the only way he knew how to tell something so painful and personal without cracking completely, without sobbing.

Sam listened silently as Jared told him about falling in love with Jimmy. Nodded when he heard about Jimmy’s madness. As he got to the end of the story—the swimming hole, the stars, the dead, wet weight of his lover in his arms, Jared had to look away from the tears welling in Sam’s eyes.

He sipped from the bottle again, hot now from the alcohol. From shame and hate. It was easier to talk, looking nowhere. Detached, hearing his words like reverberations, echoes of some other time and place—and that’s exactly what they were now. The room swirled, tilted a little around him and when he ran out of story, Jared kept talking to keep from getting dizzy. He didn’t know what he was saying. It wasn’t part of the over-thought story he’d carefully memorised.

“I’ve been walking around on autopilot. For years. Since…since he died. Feeling like a fucking failure. I lost Jimmy. Being stubborn, and he thought…he just. He loved me and I failed him.” He laughed, surprised at this new information. Where was it coming from? It wasn’t _wrong_ , but it wasn’t something he’d ever thought through before. Faced.

“You know—”

Jared waved his hand, cut Sam off. “Yeah. He might have done it anyway. I read all about it. After. Depression, they said, and…” Jared glanced at Sam again. And away… But found it was suddenly lonely without Sam in his view. He tested the feeling on Jensen, but he wasn’t _here_. Jared frowned. He wasn’t making sense. But Sam was waiting, listening…

“It seemed like something impossible to deal with. If I’d actually known what Jimmy was going through when we were younger…I might have left him completely. Isn’t that fucked up? It _terrified_ me. The idea of being so out of control. It drove me crazy. Like kind of almost actually crazy.”

As if on cue, Jensen shifted in his sleep, arched his back and threw an arm over his eyes.

“Shh,” Jared noised at him. “It’s okay, baby.” The omega settled without waking. Jared stared at him for a while, bottle to his lips. Huffed a silent laugh and took a drink. “You’d think it would have made me more sympathetic. It didn’t. I never read anything about Jen’s problems. I went through his files from the clinic. Some of them. I stopped maybe halfway through. I didn’t want to know. I didn’t want to be scared of him, or talk myself out of being able to take care of him. Just thought it’d be easier to deal with it as it came up. And. And we had…”

“Alastair,” Sam supplied quietly.

Jared nodded, looked away from Jensen and down at the floor. Sam heeled the rolling chair forward until he and Jared were almost knee to knee. His voice was low, quiet. Almost a caress, and Jared shivered at the idea. But there was force behind his words, something insistent and commanding.

“He’s got all of us now,” Sam said. “Hopefully it will be enough. We’ll deal with whatever comes up, but no one’s going to hurt him like that. Jared.” Sam leaned forward slowly. Touched Jared’s leg, just fingertips. Jared let him come, didn’t react, not even when Sam laid his hand down on his thigh. Sam squeezed, drawing Jared’s gaze up to his own. “No one is going to hurt him. I won’t let that happen.”

Jared knew Sam expected him to bristle at that, get defensive or…something. His scent was sour again, preparing to fight, but Jared only nodded.

More of those impulsive words came out, and he wondered if this was the definition of ‘heartfelt’. “Yeah, he’s more yours than mine now. He’s used to me but he _trusts_ you. I get it. You haven’t hurt him like I have.”

He hunched his shoulders and shook the whiskey bottle by the neck, followed Sam’s hand with his eyes as he removed it from his leg, leaving a cold spot.

“If I could take it back, I would. But I didn’t know what the fuck else to do with him. Most of the time it was the only thing I _could_ do to keep him from hurting himself _worse._ It’s not a great excuse, but neither of us knew anything else. We were shut off from almost everyone, and it was my choice. I get that. But it was because of him. Nobody could handle him. Too much of a hazard, too unpredictable. It was slap the shit out of him or have him taken away from me because he was, fuckin’—I don’t even know. Freaking out about shit that wasn’t really there. Attacking people. Trying to kill himself.”

Jared winced at the words even as he said them. Closed his eyes tight. “So many times, Sam, so many—he, he fucking _tried_. If, if he h-had—I can’t. I would—I wouldn’t have—I couldn’t have taken it. You know?”

“Yeah. I get it.”

That wasn’t reassuring at all, and Jared didn’t want to ask but felt like he should anyway. Someday. Not now. Now he was at the mercy of the dam busted inside himself. It was fucking embarrassing and he was starting to wonder how much sense he was actually making, if Sam could even understand all the words that were coming out. He wanted to stop, to shut up, but the flow was gaining momentum and he hated himself just enough to turn and face it, to let himself drown in his own failings and weaknesses.

“It almost killed me when—Jimmy. Months I don’t even remember. I couldn’t _see_. Like blinders on, narrowing life down to just ‘do this’ and ‘do that’, ‘go here’, ‘get this done’. I ran from everything. Memories and thoughts and—and I wanted… I just kept moving forward, hoping I’d walk into traffic or something on accident but too scared to actually do it. With Jen too, just _forward_.” He emphasised the word with a gesture, started when the whiskey sloshed in his hand. Took another drink. “I just pushed and pushed and pushed him along with me, and beat him down when he couldn’t do it, dragged him—”

“Jared—” Sam’s voice, his unhappiness at what he was hearing, was like a thunderclap in Jared’s head. He blinked, focused, breathed in that sour scent. Dropped the bottle and lurched to his feet, liquor greasing the stiffness in his knees, soothing the ache in his spine. “What? You have a better fucking way? You don’t know! You can’t know what it was like, what—what _he’s_ like!”

Sam was tensing up as much as Jared was going loose and sloppy. “I do—” Sam snapped, irritated, glaring up at Jared.

“ _No. You don’t._ How? Because you fucking babysat him for a few days? Because you—you _fucked_ him?”

“Don’t talk about him like that. What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“ _Wrong_?” That gross laughter again; Jared heard it in the distance even as it hurt his throat. “Everything. _Everything._ ” He jabbed a finger in Jensen’s direction. “And _he’s_ all I’ve got. He wasn’t good enough for you, so you had to ruin my whole fucking world—”

Sam looked at him incredulously. “You could have _died_. And what would have happened to Dean if I’d left him there?”

Something still sober mentioned it probably wasn’t the best idea to get in Sam’s face, but the rest of Jared was drunk, hurting, furious. All his earlier thoughts about forgiveness and things being better this way disappeared under the instincts he’d promised himself he’d fight, too.

Sam stood quickly as Jared advanced on him, sending the chair careening back against the big desk with a bang. Jared saw the slight bounce as Sam balanced, readying himself, vaguely recognised the stance as something Dean had done oh so long ago, back when his eyes had still been startlingly green. He didn’t know what he wanted to accomplish and why taking it out on Sam would be anything more than an exercise in self-abuse—but maybe that was exactly it.

“Don’t,” Sam warned even as he moved forward, blurred to Jared’s tearing, tired eyes. Sam’s elbow came up and Jared jerked back, not totally avoiding a hit to the chin, teeth clacking loudly together, then he found himself on his back, right wrist in Sam’s grip, his arm and shoulder wrenched up and backwards.

“Stop,” Sam shouted at him when he tried to kick, gain purchase. “I can rip your arm out of its socket. Jared, fucking _stop._ ” The command was emphasised by a twisting of Jared’s wrist that sent pain racing down his arm. Jared flicked his hair out of his eyes with a toss of his head, tasted his own blood in his throat, and glowered up at Sam.

Sam bent down close to him and Jared thought (wanted?) for one second that Sam was going to kiss him. “Listen to me. I don’t care what you are—we have enough fucking problems without you trying to fight with me. I _can’t_ let you do it, and I will stop you from hurting Dean or Jensen however I have to. Do you understand?”

“Can’t?” It was hard to get the word out, harder still to be mocking, angry. Sam was _hurting_ him…and it was good. Calming. Stopped his mind from spinning, turning on itself. Made him concentrate.  
  
Sam sighed and released him all at once. Took two steps back, breathing hard. “I have to protect them. It’s what I _do_. I can’t—I _won’t_ let you threaten them, or me. I’ll stop you however I have to. I promised Jensen.”

“Sam? Is he in trouble?” Jensen asked, small-voiced and they both startled, turned as one towards him.

“Wha—”

“Oh fuck.”

Jared and Sam’s responses overlapped, but it was the horrified way Jared cursed under his breath that cut Sam off.

“Stay down,” Sam growled quietly at Jared.

He didn’t have it in him to argue. The room kept trying to tilt every time he blinked, the surge of adrenaline that had propelled him at Sam had dissolved after the first wave of physical pain. He was too tired to fight more, apparently too willing to give into Sam. And now Jensen— _Joey_ … Jared had trained himself to recognise the sound of the child’s voice, to stop whatever it was he was doing when he heard it. It almost always worked.

“Joey?” Sam took a step towards Jensen, hand out. “Hey, kiddo. Jared’s not in trouble. We’re just sorting things out.”

“He can be _really_ bad. The doctor would try to make him worse, too.”

“What do you mean, buddy?”

Jensen cast a disapproving eye at Jared and sucked on the tip of his thumb for a moment before deciding it was alright to tattle if Sam wanted him to.

“Y’know. Give Jensen medicine that made _him_ want to do things to him. Stuff that hurt him. Hurt me, too. But I don’t mind so much. I’m _used_ to it.”

‘Used to’. That’s exactly how Jared had described Jensen just minutes before. Used to Jared. Used to his abuse, according to this kid. Jared slipped onto his knees, his head suddenly throbbing.

“Jensen—” he began.

“He ain’t listening to _you_ ,” the omega sneered. “Sam, I don’t _like_ him. He’s all broken inside, I think.”

“Oh my god,” Sam said, and Jared echoed the sentiment silently—he knew enough now to get it. And the kid wasn’t wrong. “Joey, can we please talk to Jensen?”

“Nah. He’s all freaked out. We heard that you _killed_ people. Both of you.”  
  
“We?” Jared didn’t really have to ask. He knew. It was more to warn Sam. “Jensen—”

“ _So_ wrong. Always fucking _wrong_!” Jensen shrieked, eyes flashing crimson. He reached up and yanked at his hair, giggling as he did it.

“Rhonda,” Jared said quietly when Sam froze, confused. “Don’t hurt him.”

“The fuck not? Everyone else does! It looks like _fun_. And if _I_ do it instead of you or anybody else, then we don’t have to worry about it.”  
  
“What—that doesn’t make any sense.” Sam moved closer as he spoke.

Jared understood, though. It was easier on Jensen to be apologetic, to worry about what he’d done, than to be scared.

“Jen—” Sam reached a hand out.

“You _wish_. Got something else you need to take out on him, huh? The fuck he ever do to you to deserve all your sick shit? Freak.”

Again, “Oh my god.” Sam got down on his knees, too, and Jensen’s eyes flicked rapidly back and forth between the twin images before him. “ _I’m sorry._ For everything. Jensen and I talked about all that, I thought. He doesn’t believe me?”

“Oh, I’m sure he does,” the omega replied, and Sam might not have recognised it, but Jared could tell a surprising amount of the fight had suddenly left this personality. “I don’t. Everyone lies to him.” A laugh. “It would make him just _crazy_ to start doubting everyone, wouldn’t it?”

“He doesn’t have to doubt me. He’s got a family now to take care of him. No one is going to hurt him anymore.”

That earned Sam a roll of glittering eyes and another derisive sneer.

“I’ve tried this before.”

A glare for Jared, furious. “What are you gonna do to us now, big boy? Huh? A thick, hot slice of the usual, hm? C’mon—” and Jensen leaned back, opened his legs “—it’s not like we can tell you no.”

“Yes, you can,” Sam blurted. “You can say no if you want to. No one will touch you if you don’t want them to, ever again. Can you make sure Jensen knows that?”

Another scoff. “That won’t stop our Alpha. Will it?” Jensen said, spread his legs wider. He was hard, the sheet barely concealing the perfect length of him, doing nothing to mask his sweet-hot scent.

“It _will_ ,” Sam insisted. “I’ll make sure of it.”  
  
“Yeah, how you gonna manage that? Gonna lock him up? Gonna take his dick away?”

Sam’s reasonable answer of “If I have to,” made Jared’s stomach drop. He shifted, half-hard, caught between his thighs. Jensen spotted it, smirked, those flame-flicker eyes lingered over him, crawled back to Sam as he spoke.

“We like yours better. Joey won’t talk about it but I know it.”

It was meant to humiliate Jared, and it did. And he deserved it. Sam wasn’t coming to his defense, either.

“That’s…that’s fine. Okay. That’s okay. It’s for Jensen, though. You both know that, right? And, and Joey doesn’t have to talk about anything, but Jensen is safe now. He doesn’t need you or Joey to protect him anymore. Or Ellen. I _love_ him. Jared does too, and we’ll protect him and keep him safe, and no one’s gonna make him do anything he doesn’t want to. I’d really like to know all of him if, if you’d let me. He doesn’t need to be afraid. Maybe it would help him understand that if he knew everything that happened to him. I know you and Joey are keeping secrets for him and you don’t have to anymore. Maybe if he knew none of those things are gonna happen again, he’d feel better? Feel safer. Be able to be himself. _All_ of himself. Even the parts that are scary or sad or that hurt him. I think he’s strong enough to understand.”

Jensen scratched long nails across the back of his hand, watched himself doing it. “Sometimes he likes being hurt.”

“Yeah, we know.”

“Yeah, especially _him_. Big boy over there is _really_ good at it. Betcha he missed Jensen while we’ve been here. Or…wait. That other one.” The scratching stopped and Jensen tilted his head. “Is that…is that _me_?” he asked, the shrillness gone from his voice.

“Jensen?”

“Yes. _No._ ” He chewed his fingers again, then bit down on them.

“Jen, please—”

“There’s another one,” Jensen said, ripping skin as he yanked his fingers free. “Another us?” He looked desperately at Jared. “Is this—is he real? Is it _me_? It’s not me!”

“No, baby,” Jared answered, “Dean isn’t you. He’s real. He’s not you. I thought he was, but he’s not. He’s real. Not a dream, not a video—”  
  
“Video?” Sam wanted to know but Jensen screeched over him, “What did you do to _him_?”

Jared flinched. “I-I-I didn’t—I—we—I didn’t _hurt_ him! I mean—”

“Jared, shut up!” Sam shouted. He fisted his hands and Jared thought maybe Sam was going to come after _him_ this time. But he was white under his angry flush, lips trembling… Scared.

Jared did as he was told and Sam turned back to Jensen. “Listen. That’s my brother, Dean. He looks just like Jensen, but he isn’t. He’ll be here to protect you, too. And Rhonda…Jensen is going to have a baby. Did you know that?”

The omega gaped at him. Looked down at his body as if it were something alien, something threatening. “No way. Uh uh. I’m not—I can get rid of it— _no_! You don’t get to do that!” Jensen hunched over. “Sam?”

“Jen? Yeah, I’m right here, honey. You’re okay, I promise. Will you stay? Please, we need to talk to you.”

But the omega’s eyes closed and he slumped back as if he were dropping off to sleep again. Jared held his breath and Sam made a worried noise, but then Jensen’s eyes opened and Rhonda’s frown appeared.

“I’m tired,” was stated, confusion softening the expression.

“I bet.” Sam nodded, and Jared had to dig his nails into his palms to keep from celebrating. Rhonda was _feeling_ Jensen for the first time, and he had broken through her to defend himself. That had never happened before. “It must be exhausting, carrying all this by yourself. Worrying about Joey and protecting Jensen. If you all worked together, wouldn’t it be easier? Wouldn’t it be better for Jen and for his baby, if he was always able to be himself? Joey can’t take care of a baby, right? And you don’t want to…so let Jensen do it. And he needs to know what happened to him so he can protect his baby, so he knows nothing bad is going to happen to it. If only you’ve got those memories, he’ll never know it’s all over with, that he doesn’t have to be afraid anymore.”

“He doesn’t want them.”

“How do you know? You don’t talk to him. And Joey’s only ever been told not to say anything, but Jensen didn’t say that. The doctor did. And he was bad, so why should you do what he says?”

Jensen shrugged, looked around as if seeing Bobby’s house for the first time. Slumped down and brought his legs up, bent and leaning against the armrest. Gathered the sheet over himself before glancing back at Sam. Considered both him and Jared for a while.

“Fuck Alastair,” Jensen finally said. Then giggled. “Not anymore, though. Right?”

“That’s right,” Jared supplied. “I’m sorry that ever happened to you.”

“He’s our _father_ ,” Jensen gritted, hands balled up. In front of Jared, Sam tensed. He knew, then. He’d seen Jensen hurt himself before.

“No, he wasn’t. He’s someone who hurt you, but he’s not your real father,” Sam said patiently.

Jensen rolled his eyes. “No, I _know._ I saw him once, Sam. Jensen saw him, I did. I was so little, where were we? Before…before the f-fire. Fire. Jared knows him.”  
  
“What?” Jared blurted.

“There’s your daddy,” Jensen sing-songed, looking down as if holding a child in his lap, his voice sweet, gentle. Then he jerked his head up, eyes flaring and feral. “But the doctor _made us._ Made us! ‘Pretty-pretty-pretty, don’t ever tell!’ He made us _hurt._ You can’t know! _You can’t know_!” Jensen screamed the last words into the space between him and Sam, then rolled into a ball and fell on his side.

Jared’s ears were ringing with the sound of his omega’s anguish, his body humming with the need to go to Jensen, to hold onto him, shake him out of this, _something._ But everything he’d ever done had probably been wrong, and whoever Jensen was when he wasn’t Jensen seemed to _hate_ Jared. Proof, Jensen shuddered out of his ball and slipped onto the floor, tangled in his sheet, tumble-crawled his way towards them. To Sam.

“You’re gonna watch out for him, ain’t you, Sam?” he said with Ellen’s drawl. Sam nodded, hazarded touching Jensen, and when all he got was a teary smile and a nod, Sam got to his feet. Pulled Jensen up with him, put an arm around his waist and guided him back to the couch. Sat with him, held his hands. Jensen sighed. “You’ll be a good father. That one too,” Jensen tipped his head towards Jared without looking at him. “These kids, they’re ready to come with me. We’ll get this sorted out.” Jensen was crying now, but Ellen was still smiling. “It’s gonna be ugly. It’ll hurt. He might be pissed off sometimes. Or sad, or wish he still had this place. Us. Gonna be hard to take care of himself or anyone else, maybe.”

“Okay. I get it.” Sam whispered.

“Okay.” A wink, a long look at Jared that he could only return, numb. He’d seen Jensen integrate before, once, and the fallout from that had left scars on both of them. To have Jensen be completely without his network, his coping mechanisms—Jared was terrified for him. He almost wanted to say no, to beg Ellen not to leave them. He stayed silent.

Nothing extraordinary happened. There was no dramatic unveiling of a new, whole Jensen. He merely drooped a little, and Sam caught him. Held him. Jensen kept crying, and Jared stayed on his sore knees, silent, and let Sam figure out what to do next.


	12. Chapter 12

Sam had no idea what to do. He felt stripped, tired, hungry, wound-up. Nervousness was translating itself into shivering, pulses of movement making him rhythmically squeeze Jensen hard enough it interrupted the omega’s quiet, weak sobbing.

He wasn’t totally sure what had just happened. Jared had dumped a mountain of self-loathing and trauma into Sam’s lap and then fucking attacked him. Sam wondered if Jared was aware of the strength discrepancy between them, if he knew he could have _easily_ overpowered Sam if he’d tried at all. But he had gone down quick and given up. Stayed down, and Sam had joined him eventually. Two reasons: to not intimidate Jensen, and not give himself the opportunity to kick Jared in the teeth.

The shit that had come out of Jensen’s mouth…

Sam knew, to be fair to Jared, to keep from being reactionary—he _knew_ Jared had hurt Jensen. Abused him. And understood that it would be happening to Dean in Jensen’s place. Had seen it in the way Dean had reacted to Jared, how obvious it was that Dean was struggling with his feelings for someone who had hurt him. Dean’s submission was partly the heat, the artificial omega-ness, and partly learned behavior.

But actually hearing about it, having Jared _admit it_ , and Jensen confirm it…

Could Jared really change? Was he just a monster of the worst sort? Would it be right—would it be _safe_ to let him stay? To allow him contact with Dean and Jensen? And was Sam even the best judge of these things? He and Dean didn’t exactly have the healthiest of relationships, even before…now. They’d resorted to physical violence and guilt-tripping many, many times.

Sam closed his eyes, leaned against the back of the couch, drawing Jensen with him. He was sniffling now, and humming. Talking to himself? Sam tried to listen in but couldn’t make anything of the noise. What Sam hoped more than anything was that Jensen would be able to say what he wanted, finally. Sam could at least make sure Jensen had that opportunity. And whatever it was, Sam would do his damnedest to give it to him.

If Jensen was even sane enough, after this, to make demands.

Integration. The word came to Sam out of left field. It seemed as though that’s what had just happened to Jensen. His wayward personalities had finally come together, integrated into one. Not long ago, Sam had prayed that it wouldn’t happen. What he’d learned from the child Joey about the things Jensen had suffered through for _years_ in Alastair’s care had horrified Sam. He had thought, probably selfishly, that Jensen was better off not remembering any of it.

But, exhausted as he was, some instinct had come forward tonight, had encouraged the omega to accept the reality of his past. If the Jensen that Sam knew best was the core personality, then he was gonna be okay. _That_ Jensen was smart, strong, brave, clever. Sweet and kind. That he had parts of him that were impish and belligerent and impatient, wounded and self-destructive, didn’t detract from the good qualities. It made him _whole_. Rounded. It made his ability to choose who to be, how to act, even more important.

Jared needed to choose too.

Sam wasn’t surprised to see Jared look right back at him when he glanced over. Like something half-melted, he was in a slumped hunch, arms wrapped around his middle, legs bent, little-kid splayed so he was sitting on his butt. A faint smear of blood on his upper lip, cheeks tear-tracked, his scent like a fresh-dug grave: wet, heavy, dark.

Jensen jolted in Sam’s arms when he drew breath to speak, startling him, making him forget what he was going to say. He might have asked Jared to go somewhere else for a while, or maybe to come closer. Tried to search around for an instinct but only came up with weariness and worry. Jared moved though; maybe Sam _was_ going to call to him, maybe the Alpha could sense it.

Jensen twitched again when Jared dragged himself to his hands and knees and scooted towards them, and Sam relaxed his hold, not wanting Jensen to feel trapped, held down at all.

Eyes still on Sam, Jared moved closer. Stayed on the floor, wiped at his running eyes and sore mouth, raked his hair back from his face. Held a shaking hand out and waited. Only after Sam nodded did the Alpha touch Jensen.

“Baby,” Jared murmured, brushed at Jensen’s sopping cheek with his fingertips. “Are you okay in there?”

A tiny, frantic shake of his head and a burbling laugh. Jared laughed too, heartbreak in the sound. Jensen pressed himself harder against Sam’s chest.

“Are you gonna sleep?”

A pause then another shake. “Want to,” Jensen whispered. “Can’t. M’heart’s racing. C-can’t cl-close m-my eyes.”

It hurt, the force Jensen was using. Like he was trying to burrow inside Sam. “I can help you, if you really want to sleep.” He spoke softly. Jensen splayed his hand out on his chest to feel the vibration of it. “Okay. Lemme up, sweetheart. Jared’s right here. You want him?”

Maybe it was cruel to ask that. What if Jensen said no, never? But Sam couldn’t worry about all of them, all the time. He couldn’t make it right between these two in an instant. Jensen had to choose, had to know he _could._ That it was okay, whatever it was that he wanted, or didn’t, and Sam needed to know what the omega wanted so he could help him get there, give it to him if he could, protect him from what he didn’t want whenever possible.

Jensen whined, shivered, and Sam could see Jared holding his breath, tried not to look, to make it worse for him, but after a few long seconds had passed, Jensen nodded his head and reached for Jared. They carefully shifted around, Jared taking Sam’s place on the couch, Jensen monkeying himself around the Alpha, clinging and crying still.

It was hard to leave Jensen. Rended some newly discovered place in his heart that Dean miraculously hadn’t hurt already. And Sam sort of—hated? Was jealous of?—the callous familiarity he thought he saw in the way Jared treated Jensen. …But maybe Jared could think the same thing about him and Dean.

In the kitchen, Sam made Jensen a cup of chamomile tea, about four times as strong as he normally would and while it was steeping, rooted around the house and his own bags until he had a handful of pills. Melatonin, Benadryl, magnesium. He had stronger medication, but these were the only ones he knew were safe during pregnancy.

…Still so weird. He was going to be a _father._

He’d never really thought about it before. Maybe as some vaguery in the very distant future when he’d been young. Been with Jess. But they’d never actually discussed it. They’d never even talked about getting married. You were supposed to surprise her with that, he’d figured, and the rest would fall into place. Sam had always assumed Dean would be the first one to mess up that way, anyway. Was pretty sure Dean _had_ but Lisa wouldn’t cop to it, and that was for the best.

Because Sam and Dean were always in danger, and that was no life for a child.

They would know.

Sam leaned on the table with both hands, wanted to pray, but abruptly realised that probably wasn’t going to do any good. If everything really was the way Castiel said, God wouldn’t be listening to prayers about the likes of Jared and Jensen, and Sam was pretty sure he wasn’t on God’s good side either, so a kid from the combination thereof didn’t have much of a shot.

On their own, just like always. Only, Sam didn’t really _believe_ that. He couldn’t. Dean and he had been witness to and a part of too many miracles for Sam despair.

But still, it was unlikely help was coming their way, from on high or otherwise.

They would make do.

They.

Sam wanted a family. He _had_ a family. He had Dean, and that was the foundation for everything in Sam’s life. That’s what kept him sane, kept him whole, kept him alive. But now, through no fault of its own, there was going to be someone new in their lives, and naturally, the circle had to extend to include not only a baby of Sam’s blood, but Jensen, whom Sam loved. Very much. More than he’d thought himself capable of.

And there was Jared.

Sam had finally cleaned the table and floor of his blood, but he could still taste the copper bite of it in the air. He was truly glad Jared hadn’t died, hadn’t bled out right in front of them all. Dean would have felt he was to blame, and Jensen…Sam could joke to himself about the omega losing his mind, but, really.

Jared was as fucked as any of them; because of this, and way before now. He needed to be cared for as much as anyone. Needed to be protected.

Sam wanted this to work, for all of them.

He carried the warm cup and the pills back to the library, stepping quietly. Jared and Jensen were still cuddled on the couch, and Sam wanted them to be asleep, but they both lifted tired faces to him as he approached.

“Here, Jen. Can you sit up and drink this?”

A nod, and Jared helped Jensen into a better position. He sipped at the honeyed tea a couple times before he accepted the handful of pills Sam was offering. He didn’t look at them, didn’t ask what they were, just swallowed them all at once.

“I’m gonna put you to bed, okay?”

Jensen nodded. He’d stopped crying, and now he could barely keep his gold-flash eyes open. Sam pulled him up, got an arm around his shoulders and his own around Jensen’s waist and drag-carried him back to the little room, the stained mattress. Laid him gently down and tucked the sheet around him. Jared followed like Sam’s wake but stopped in the doorway.

Sam asked, “Do you want me to stay? Be here when you wake up?”

“Mm. _Both_ ,” was the shuddery reply, and Sam knew what he meant.

“Okay, honey. We’ll stay.” He said it loud enough Jared would hear.

It only took a few minutes for Jensen to drift off. Tea, pills, exhaustion, they took him under gently, and, Sam hoped, dreamlessly. Only when every last line around the omega’s eyes smoothed out and that sweet little pout went away and stayed away did Sam turn back to Jared.

“C’mon.” He beckoned the Alpha into the room. Shifted to the floor and the sleeping bags, giving up the space beside Jensen to his mate. Didn’t know what to do when Jared crawled onto the floor next to Sam instead.

“Don’t wanna disturb him,” Jared mumbled.

There wasn’t anything to do but lay down. On his back, closest to Jensen. “When’s the last time you got any sleep?”  
  
Jared shrugged. “I don’t even know what day it is. What year. Where I’m at.”

Sam didn’t mean to chuckle, but it made Jared smile, so it was forgiven. “Lie down. I’ll tell you—whatever, okay? It doesn’t matter anyway, does it? Me and Dean, the days of the week never really mean anything to us. Not like we have a nine-to-five.”

As he talked, Jared lowered himself down. Stretched out on his back, then rolled over, towards Sam. “That’s weird to think about,” he said. “I don’t have a job anymore. A house, car, work. Just like that. I’d say friends, but…we didn’t have any. Gabe is going to be really upset.”

Sam didn’t ask why they had no friends, or who Gabe was. Both were obvious. “Well, if it helps at all…don’t worry about any of that. There's nothing you can about what you left behind, and you don’t need anything here right now that we can’t help you get, okay?”

Jared nodded. “Thanks.” Then his face clouded over. “You’ve always got an answer for things, don’t you? How do you always fix everyone?”

“Uh, no. Not really. Actually, most people I get too close to or try to help end up dead.”

“Huh. Maybe you should try to fix me.”

Sam huffed, irritated. “Jared, y’know—I know this is really hard. And I know you’ve had a lot of pain in your life. But Jensen _needs you_. You gotta let some of your shit go. You didn’t kill Jimmy.” It was hard not to get pissed, get loud, but Sam tried to keep his voice low and even. “Whatever happened between you, that was _his_ choice, not something you made him do. Not something you wanted him to do. Grieve for him, but this depressive shit you’re feeling isn’t gonna help you, or him, or Jensen.”

Jared was _almost_ expressionless; Sam recognised the dangerous tilt to his own eyes though. He softened his voice.

“You don’t have anything to prove here. Do you get that? You can just be you, and Jensen can be whoever he wants to be, and maybe that will be _good_. Do _you_ even know who _you_ are after all that’s happened to you? You’ve had someone fucking with your life for years now, so all this—” and there was an unexpected rush up Sam’s spine when he reached out without thinking, put his hand on Jared’s arm “—isn’t the way it has to be anymore. Try to, I don’t know…forgive yourself.”

Those eyes weren’t glaring anymore, were jumping back and forth like Jared was thinking of a way to argue, or didn’t really understand what Sam was saying.

“I know Jen…I know he’s a lot to, to deal with. I mean, so’s Dean.” Sam laughed again, and Jared bit his lip like the name stung. Sam squeezed his arm. Jared’s hand moved on the blankets between them, towards Sam but not quite touching. “He’s overwhelming. They both are. But… Just don’t push us away. Don’t hurt yourself, or them.”

“I know,” Jared said, voiceless. He moved his hand again, bumped the back of it against Sam’s arm, then jerked it back to his own chest, hiding. “But…I don’t know how to do what you’re asking. I don’t know how to deal with this.”

“I know,” Sam said. “I mean, I understand what you’re saying.”

Jared shook his head, a tick. “Everything’s…”

“Wrong?”

“Different. Lost. _Everything_. I don’t have anything, and…I don’t even know if I ever wanted what I had. Except Jensen. _He’s_ everything. My whole life.”

“Yeah,” Sam said.

“Who’s… When I was strong, when I thought I knew what I was doing, I ruined everything. I hurt people. _I_ hurt. Who—” He cut himself off and closed his eyes tightly.

“Jared. I will help you. You’re not alone. You’ll have friends, if you let us in. You’ll have a family.”

“Why would you help me? Why would you… _include me_ in, in your f-family? Jen—” The words tangled in his throat. “D- _Dean_ —” he tried, but he couldn’t go there, either.

“What did you do to Dean?” Sam asked, and he turned over onto his side as he did. There was no use keeping distance between them now; it was a stupid game, and Sam didn’t want to pretend anymore. “Why is he scared of you?” He said it very quietly, close enough he felt Jared’s soft little sob against his lips.

“I-I-I didn’t _know_. I didn’t know he wasn’t Jensen. Y-you—how was I supposed to know? Dean—he begged me n-not to. But he—I only know one way of, of—how to treat Jensen. What to do with him.”

“You raped him.”

The Alpha’s mouth opened and closed several times, but he didn’t deny it. Not completely. “N-not, not—the, the first time—he—the first time he w-wanted it—wanted me, I thought. I tried, before that. I tried, and, and I hurt him. I didn’t—it wasn’t anything I hadn’t done to, to Jensen, but I-I—”

Being this close to him was like being in a hurricane of sorrow and shame, but Sam scented something else: the now-familiar high note of lust that fogged the words. Mouth slightly open, eyes seeing nothing, Jared was remembering. He wasn’t even breathing, Sam noticed after a minute of watching. He was somewhere else, some other time, and it finally sunk in for Sam how huge a role sexual dominance played not only in Jared and Jensen’s relationship, and in the Alpha’s relationship with his step-brother, Jimmy, but in the psychology of their world over all.

Sam wanted to be horrified. To think of a world so like his own where it wasn’t uncommon—more than that, it was _normal_ for one sex to utterly rule over another in every way, where violence and abuse and rape was commonplace and such actions went utterly unpunished. Sam wanted to be disgusted by Jared, wanted to hate him…but Sam knew what it was like to be a product of one’s environment. To be what you are because you were raised that way, because you didn’t know anything else. And he knew that a person could change.

“You never really mourned Jimmy, did you?” Sam asked and Jared gasped his next breath, flinched at the name. Narrowed his eyes, confused by the question.

“W-what?”

“You couldn’t, could you? Not in front of anyone who knew you. Because you were family. Nobody would get it. No one could _know._ How long after that did you find Jensen?”

“Not very long. I-I—no. I mean, I don’t know—I didn’t, I guess. I just…blocked it out.”

“Kept yourself busy. Worked and what, exercised? Did you run a lot?”

Jared stared at Sam.

Sam said, “You can’t run from things forever. You can’t just feel one way about something that happened to you without ever examining it again, without letting yourself feel things. Hurt, grieve, get angry. Let go, eventually. That kind of shit will fester, and you’ll start taking it out on other people. Feel out of control because there’s something rotting inside you that won’t go away.”

Still staring, his breathing stilled again, Jared’s bottom lip was twitching. Like he was going to cry, or was trying to speak but couldn’t. Sam had to fight the urge to put his thumb to the quivering flesh, to stroke it until Jared was calm again.

“You sound like you have experience,” Jared stated, numb-tongued and slow.

“Yeah. Can you tell me—what was—was it a big deal that Jensen has problems? I mean, how did that affect you? Where you embarrassed by him or—”

“No,” Jared blurted. Then he licked that lip and swallowed hard. “I wasn’t—it wasn’t embarrassing. It just…scared me. That he might do something, hurt someone, or himself. Get taken away from me. He, he might…”

“Kill himself. Like Jimmy.”

Sam could have imagined the tiny nod, but he knew he was right. “But, so, it wasn’t a reflection on you that Jen was out of control? That you didn’t have a well behaved omega?”

Jared made a face. “Well…I guess. It could be looked at like that.” He laughed, dry and tired, and his eyes closed. He wiggled, drawing his knees up until they were touching Sam’s thighs, and tucked a hand under his own cheek. Sam found it an incredibly sad, lonely gesture. “Nobody really knew. Or, that’s what I wanted to believe. Really, _everyone_ knew. That’s why we didn’t have friends. Never went out. Everything was day by day.”

“That must’ve been really frustrating.”

Jared opened his eyes and that fierceness was back, a confrontational glimmer that reminded Sam of…of Madison, of all things. Maybe it was the fangs, too.

“We found ways to cope. You know,” he rushed, defensive, “it wasn’t like I beat the shit out of him constantly or anything. He likes what I do to him. He asks for it. And it helps him; he even says it does.”

“Yeah, I know.”

More of those fangs, long and dangerous. “Yeah? I _bet_. See, he can’t go without it, can he? Has to be fuckin’ slapped around or he flips out. So don’t treat me like I’m a monster.”

“I’m not saying you’re a monster, Jared.”

“Then what? What is this?”

“You hurt Dean because you wouldn’t _listen_ to him. And Jensen too. You’re too fucked up over what happened to you before, with Jimmy, to think clearly. To trust yourself or to trust Jensen. You were angry and scared, and you still are, and that’s why they can’t trust you. You’re fucking hurting the people who love you.”

“People?”

Sam didn’t reply. Instead, he kissed Jared. Braved the sharp canines, and it wasn’t love Sam was feeling. Not entirely, at least. Lust, irritation. Compassion. Sam knew words were only going to go so far with Jared. There was a part of him that was just…different. Alien. Maybe Sam did think Jared was a little bit of a monster, but Sam had a lot of experience with them. With himself, too. And they were a lot alike, Jared, Sam, and monsters.

Sam kissed him hard enough to push him onto his back. Used his elbows and knees to shove Jared where he wanted him, under him. Felt the Alpha squirm and suck a gasp between their lips in discomfort, but—just like Sam figured—he didn’t fight back. Went over easy, stayed down. No pushing, biting, growling.

He put a hand to Jared’s face, smoothed hair from his cheek, his eyes. Tangled his fingers in it and squeezed. Another gasp, and Jared’s eyes were open. Wide, messy with colour, and Sam leaned on Jared’s arms, had to be hurting him.

“Do you get it, Jared? Do you hear what I’m saying?”

A quick nod. Sam relaxed down onto him slightly, dropped his hips.

“Good. ’Cause I mean it. You can’t hurt them anymore. Ever. Dean’s likely to put a bullet in you, now that he’s home. You know that, right?”

Another nod, but Jared’s eyes half-closed, considering, and Sam didn’t begrudge him that. Nor was he entirely sure of what he’d just said, sure of Dean’s ability to defend himself against Jared, but it was worth a shot.

“And _I_ will kill you if you hurt Jensen.” That, Sam _was_ sure of.

“I won’t,” Jared breathed.

Sam nodded. “Okay.” Fisted Jared’s hair tighter, shook him by it. “We’ll figure the rest of it out. There’s nuances, isn’t there?”

“Y-yeah,” Jared agreed, wincing, curiosity in place of that earlier temper.

“Yeah,” Sam echoed.

It was symbolic, what Sam was doing. He was positive Jared understood that. None of them trusted Jared. He couldn’t _be_ trusted, and he would admit that later, readily. He was too rigid, too scared—of losing Jensen, of losing _control_ , and it was too easy to fall back into old patterns. Something they both did, Sam and Jared, and Sam was going to make a huge effort to learn better ways, right along with Jared.

“You’re not alone,” he repeated, said the words with lips sliding along Jared’s.

He was listening, was behaving—maybe too tired not to, but Sam felt him give up… _something._ Tension ebbed away, and he softened beneath Sam, except where his cock was tucked up under Sam’s balls, a warm, slow-pulsing thing that Sam settled himself over, rubbed against. Jared broke their kiss to crane his neck up, sighed like he wanted to _see._ Sam got his own shirt off, tore Jared’s at the hem pulling it over his head.

Sam pushed himself up on his hands. Space between them, and he said, “Touch me. Get it out. You, too.”

Jared did touch him, but he didn’t go right for his dick. Put his hands on Sam’s shoulders and leaned up again, begging another kiss. Quick, wet, then he ran his hands down Sam’s chest. Thumbed over his nipples, tugged at them, opened his mouth like he wanted to lick, so Sam moved forward and let him. Slick tongue drags over one, then the other, back and forth, then he sucked Sam into his mouth, held him gently with his teeth. Licked again, until Sam was almost-sore with it.

Jared was omega-easy to distract, though. Sam pressing his jeans-trapped cock against Jared’s belly was all it took to have him fall back. Hands down Sam’s ribs, just the slightest scratch of nails over skin, then those thumbs again, tracing the hard outline of Sam through his jeans. Buttons fumbled open and Jared jammed his big hand inside, cupped Sam in a sweaty palm. Shaft, balls, then lower, long fingers dipping past Sam’s taint. Sam jerked back, denied him, and Jared just. _Melted._ Spread his legs, made a deep-throat sound, and Sam felt that hand bumping between them while the other peeled at Sam’s waistband.

Sam had to go to his knees to get his pants off, and Jared bounced his hips and dragged his own down, pulling one knee high to free himself then kicking them off his other foot almost frantically. Parted his legs again, wide, and there was nothing familiar now about the look in Jared’s eyes.

Naked, Sam crawled back over him. They were both sweating, and Sam tucked his face into Jared’s damp hair at his temple, breathed in deep of that incredible scent. So wild and clean, but warm now, like he’d never been before. Sun-on-lush-grass, like a fucking secret meadow in the Alps or something, and Sam had to smile as his brain scrambled to make sense of it. Jared turned into the smile, and Sam slapped his hand over Jared’s face. Had felt fangs graze his shoulder. Palmed Jared’s mouth, cupping his jaw closed, fingers on either side of Jared’s nose so they were almost in his eyes, and Sam clamped down hard enough to hurt.

“I will put a fucking muzzle on you,” Sam hissed.

Jared held still under Sam’s anger, made apologetic eyes at him even as his fingers worked their way between them. Touched Sam first, then Jared’s hips shifted and he dragged them aligned. It felt weird, too-big against Sam’s belly, but fuck it was _good._

Sam tilted Jared’s face away, cheek against the blanket, and thrust against him, watching. That pleasure-pain look tweaked his features, made him breathe out a confused little pant. Sam sealed his mouth to Jared’s jaw. Tongued against Jared’s pulse, enough sweat to there to drink, and Jared seemed disoriented. Was just holding them together, his thighs jumping around Sam’s hips.

Sam put his stubble-burned lips to Jared’s ear and his hand around his throat.

“What do you want me to do?”

Jared swallowed under Sam’s palm.

“C’mon, you know this, you know how to ask for it. You make them do it.”

But he didn’t. Tensed, shuddered when he couldn’t hold it, seemed on the verge of panicking all at once, practically panting like a hard-run horse.

“ _Say it_ ,” Sam insisted. “Beg me to fuck you.”

“I—sh-should I—do you want me on, on my knees?” Jared didn’t look at Sam as he said the words,

“Is that what you want? Want to turn over and, what’s Jensen call it? _Present_ to me like a good little bitch?”

“ _Fuck_ ,” Jared groaned before Sam was even done speaking. He flushed, scarlet up from his chest and neck, burnt across his cheeks. His teeth chattered, an uncertain shiver. Sam used the Alpha’s throat to brace himself and Jared didn’t even fight for air.

“I should get Jensen up.” Sam glanced over at him but he was out, sweet and peaceful. “Get his tongue in you—” Sam slipped his knees wide, forced Jared’s wider “—so it won’t hurt. Unless, you want it to.”

Sam got his other hand between them, brushed Jared’s off easily. Let go of his neck and Jared’s shoulders came off the floor. His hands flailed, clutched at Sam’s arms, then fell away when Sam pushed him back down, hand to his chest.

He wasn’t really thinking this through anymore. Truthfully, Sam was tired of thinking. Of trying to work this shit out between them all. Dean was always making fun of Sam being too much in his own head, not listening to his gut more, and it was treading-water exhaustion that had him giving in to that advice finally. And what his instincts were telling him to do right now was to fucking _own_ this other self beneath him, this dangerous, lost creature with his face, his body, his cock.

 _Almost_ twins, but for where they were so, so different. Fangs, strength, this swelling knot in his hand. Sam rubbed it with his thumb, pressed in hard to really feel it for the first time. Like a taut muscle and not anywhere near its full size, it was still flexible when Sam pressed on it and Jared moaned like it was tender, then exhaled sharply when Sam squeezed even harder, felt it compress slightly, and Sam wondered if there was a way to keep it from expanding. Some kind of special cock ring, and Jared said ‘ _fuck_ ’ again, a startled sound. Jared was looking at him now instead of away, and to keep his attention, Sam slapped the cock in his hand. Moved into it slowly so Jared would know what was about to happen, and when Jared didn’t stop him, didn’t move, Sam did it again just to keep that shocked, almost betrayed expression in Jared’s eyes.

 _When’s the last time you let yourself feel anything?_ Sam wanted to ask, interrogate. _When has someone given to you instead of draining you? How long has it been since you’ve been able to let go, to let someone else take care of you?_ But he didn’t. Tapped Jared’s balls with the backs of his fingers instead, flicked them again when Jared put his hand over his mouth and let his long legs come up, open, against his ribs.

Another smack, ill-aimed, careless on purpose, sharp, and Sam had to pin Jared down when he twisted his hips helplessly. Pinned him, covered him again, hunched down so his own hanging cock was right up against Jared’s ass.

“You want this,” Sam told him. Spit into his hand that smelled like Jared’s cock and Dean’s heat and Jensen’s tears, slicked the head of his dick with it. More spit, fingers between Jared’s cheeks. Wet down there already, nervous sweat. _Cinched_ , and raw-silk on the tip of Sam’s finger and Sam brought his hand up to wet it again, mouth full and maybe someday he’d get down there and really taste Jared, but not now, and he didn’t try to get him open, either. Wasn’t going to give Jared time to work this out, to try to take control again, to convince himself to be something other than what he really was in this moment.

“Sh-shh, still, hold still.”

Jared was pulling on him and Sam batted his hands away, put all his weight down on one palm over Jared’s heart, his other hand guiding himself. So much resistance Sam thought maybe it wasn’t going to happen, and then it did. Jared opened up to him so so slowly, tremblingly, ten-years tight and yeah, he wanted it. Rolled his hips up, forced inches into him even though it obviously hurt, made him tilt his head back, show Sam his throat and fangs.

It was easy to get deeper and Jared was hot around him, clenched Sam like nothing he’d ever felt, but then he’d only had the omegas before now (and he’d made one pregnant and the other was his brother, oh god), and Jess full of strawberry lube and tequila that one time, and fuck, he fit with Jared so perfect like this, hips flush, dick buried and Jared was moving, wanting more, offering, eager and saying _Sam Sam I want_ —

Jared wanted, but he did not take. He _could._ He could fight back, hurt Sam, get away, force him, but he wasn’t even _trying_. Couldn’t quite beg either, but he wanted to kiss Sam as he came in closer, but Sam just wanted him tacked steady under him. Grabbed Jared’s hips and rolled his lower back off the ground and braced him on his thighs. Got his arms around Jared’s head and pulled him in until that lonely mouth was closer to his own knees than anything, but still, Jared didn’t resist and the noise he made when Sam finally began to hammer into him was nowhere near ‘no’ or ‘stop’ or ‘don’t’.

Jared’s fucked-out gasps tasted like rain. Hands rested softly on Sam’s biceps, nothing to do with them, no leverage to try for; he just held on and took it like a lesson to be learned. There was one. _Let go_ , Sam thought, _stop fighting._

One of those hands on Sam’s thighs, prodding between them and Sam could feel it: Jared’s cock knotted up and hot against his belly. “Sam. C-can I?”

Sam didn’t want Jared to come. He was submitting, but if they were _anything_ alike, it was punishment he really needed and deserved. Not getting what he wanted at all, only what Sam allowed him. That’s what this was all about. The punctuation at the end of Sam’s warnings, his threats that he was more than capable of following through on. Sam had to prove that to him, and this was a good place to start.

He didn’t reply, and Jared didn’t insist. Dropped his head back into the cradle of Sam’s hands. Sam got two fistfuls of hair, racheted Jared securely in place with arms around his legs and there was no time for this to be pretty or fair. Sam put his forehead to Jared’s and fucked him. If he could come from just that, then fine, but if he didn’t—

“Need a muzzle,” Sam growled, a low rumble of sound. “Fucking handcuffs. A cock cage. Maybe you’re the one that needs to be on a leash. Trapped and tied down ’til you can act right. Huh? Train you like a damn dog not to bite.”

“Do it.” Said like he was trying the words out, mouthing someone else’s lines.

The image didn’t sit well with Sam, had the back of his neck tingling like someone or something was stroking him there. Made him growl again and shut his eyes on Jared’s expression; empty now, doll-like and Sam could bend and flex and imagine him into something new and somehow Sam had this memory of someone trying to remake _him_ —and that tingling turned to an itch, then into a nip of pain, a headache behind his right eye—

“Help,” Sam heard, his own voice. Opened his eyes, gasped, disoriented at seeing himself _there_ when he was _here_ , here where his body was doing what it wanted, keyed up and chasing pleasure while his mind was numb and confused and scared—

“—need _help_ , I-I—s-s- _sorry_ , ’m sorry, help me, Sam, I can’t—I don’t want to hurt—”

Jared slipped Sam’s hold somewhat, got his legs free and wrapped them around Sam’s back, ankles locked, and his hands were on Sam’s where they were yanking his hair but he wasn’t struggling, just, like, _holding_ , and Sam let go, let Jared tangle their fingers together and that brought Sam back from…fucking wherever, whatever had just happened, he couldn’t think right now, couldn’t remember. But this, what he was doing here, to Jared, this was important and this was okay, he wasn’t forcing Jared to accept his control—his help. That’s what Jared wanted, what he felt this was and that was good, that’s what Sam had intended.

That look still, almost-sweet and a little desperate now and maybe Sam’s hurting him for real—he’d be sore from this later, and it would remind him to be more careful. With himself and with Jensen and Dean— _Dean._ God, what Jared did to Dean. Sam felt that too, as if he himself were capable of it, of hurting Dean like that, taking him by force—

Jared cried out, his fingers suddenly twisted to nearly-broken in Sam’s fists, and his heels dug into Sam’s lower back to keep him inside but Sam had the leverage and he hauled himself up as his orgasm hit, made him bear down, grip tighter, hold Jared still as he tried to arch out of the curl Sam’d forced him into, but he was pinned and another cry turned into a whine when Sam came on his belly, a mockery of his own denied orgasm that his dick dipped into and smeared in strings as he struggled and Sam had to let him go finally or fall on him. Held himself up with a hand on Jared’s bicep and brushed his cock over Jared’s, and through the mess, rubbed it into the Alpha’s skin. Used his knuckles to get it all, could leave bruises the way he was dragging them slick up Jared’s rib cage.

He didn’t look at Jared’s face again, not directly. Studied his body instead, as if it were something to be punished or dissected or burned alive. Maybe it was. Sam had survived it. That lancing pain again in his head made him twitch, and he shoved at Jared. Got him onto his side, his spine against the mattress with their sleeping omega on it, and Jared curled up on his own. Wiped his face with the back of his hand and Sam could tell there were tears even over the bitter pepper-bite of his own come.

_Good._

Sam let him cry. Sat there and caught his breath, concentrated on…not thinking. Avoiding whatever was hurting his head so much. Let himself go blank and uncaring for, fuck, for just a minute, please, oh my god.

It was impossible. As worried as he was for Dean, as petrified as he felt about the future, Jared unravelling just inches away, and some scabby mental wound he could just barely sense inside himself, Sam couldn’t shut down. Wanted to fix and plan and care for all of them.

He slipped down next to Jared, almost nose to nose. Combed hair back from his face and Jared ducked, tried to hide from the tender touch, and he probably didn’t deserve it on some level but the whole point of this was not leaving him alone with his hurt. Not to shame him for it or make him think he had to hide it. He was balled up, nowhere to go to get away from Sam’s touch, or from Jensen’s. Jared jumped when he felt the omega’s fingers on him. On that place where Jared was forever grabbing him, and Jensen smiled fleetingly at Sam, mostly asleep, as he stroked his thumb over the nape of Jared’s neck, and now that he knew Jensen was awake, Sam could tell he had been for a while, that there was a warm undercurrent in the room of the omega’s arousal.

Jared’s eyes were closed tight, the palm under his cheek containing a little pool of his tears, but after a few seconds he bent his head down, exposed the spot more to Jensen, another symbolic gesture, and when Sam lifted Jared’s chin and the Alpha looked at him—just a trick of the dim light—it startled Sam to see how much of Jensen’s gold there was in Jared’s irises.


	13. Chapter 13

Jared wanted to hate Sam as much as he was sure Sam hated him, but he couldn’t. How could he hate someone he’d always wanted to be? Someone that Dean obviously trusted with his life, to make decisions for him. Someone that Jensen went to so easily for comfort and support. Jared had that with Jensen before, but now that there was an alternative, Jensen’s first choice always seemed to be Sam, and it was kind of breaking Jared.

He couldn’t really blame Jensen. It’s not like he was terribly approachable. Actually, he was pretty sure, in his more lucid moments, that he was a little bit frightening. At least to the omega, who had only ever known a walled up, emotionally stagnated Jared. And now he was this dull shell moving around listlessly, refusing to eat or talk or do anything really but cry until his head ached and he couldn’t keep his eyes open. Thrashing in his sleep until Sam forced him out of the room and onto the cot downstairs in that concrete and steel dungeon because he was keeping Jensen awake.

Jared would wake up at dawn every day, even underground, like he had something important to do. Someone to save. Would be too-awake, hyper-vigilant, skittish at the approach of Sam or Jensen, snapping and hostile to innocent queries about his hunger or thirst or comfort. He’d go back to sleep in the middle of the day, nothing to do with himself that didn’t remind him how out of place he was, how useless and, and actually _dangerous_ he was to those around him.

No one could touch him, not after that day. After Sam. After Jensen had watched Sam reduce him down to what he really was. Needy and desperate and hurt. He hurt so much just existing was agony. The kind of pain that eventually denied him the ability to even cry, and he’d just sit and stare and Jensen would _try_ , he really did try to reach Jared, to touch him and talk to him and love him, but Jared couldn’t stand it and eventually the omega retreated to Sam, and they became like leaves blowing around Jared, rustling on the edges of his awareness.

He couldn’t cry anymore, couldn’t sleep enough or be awake for too long. Didn’t eat unless Sam was sitting across from him and telling him to, reminding him, commanding him. Sam became his unwanted shadow, and after a few days, Jared figured out it was because Sam was worried he was going to kill himself. He was never given anything sharp to eat with, and he noticed Sam’s scent lingering in the basement as if he’d come down to check on Jared at regular intervals. That was fine. That was…nice of him, even. Jared wouldn’t do it—not that he hadn’t ever thought about it, but that’s not what was going on. There was enough of him dying on the inside that the death of his actual body seemed redundant.

Sam was right about a lot of things, though. Mostly about Jensen. About Jared not having any control over his omega and the shame and frustration that went along with that. And the mental mindfuck with having not one but two lovers in his life that were beyond his help. That was…there wasn’t a word for it in Jared’s vocabulary. Why him? Why had the universe handed over two fucked up people for Jared to utterly fail? What had he done to deserve that? He’d been just a boy when he’d met Jimmy—what was it about Jared that he attracted these things?

“You can’t think about it that way,” Sam said to him, and had he been talking? They were at the kitchen table and Jared’s fingertips were sticky from pushing around some kind of soft orange fruit on his plate. “Or, or if you do…maybe it’s because you _are_ actually strong enough to do this. To _really_ help Jensen. You’re right, you were just a kid with Jimmy. You had too much responsibility and not enough life experience to know what you were doing. But you do now. And, Jared, listen to me; if you’re asking these questions, thinking about this shit, then your brain must want you to deal with it. Some part of you wants to keep going.”

Jared nodded. Ate this ‘cantaloupe’ after Sam told him to three times in a row.

Yeah, he wanted to hate Sam, but he didn’t. He kind of loved him. How could he not when Sam wouldn’t give up on him?

Jensen wasn’t giving up on him either, but he’d always been timid—when he wasn’t trying to stab someone or running into traffic or—he wasn’t doing any of that here. What the omega had done, who he’d been, _everyone_ he’d been—it was all different now. He was still _Jensen_ , though, and when Jared finally started feeling things, sensing his surroundings, was able to turn his head at a noise, his name, a touch, Jensen was almost always there, or close. Big eyes from the shadows, gold or green or blue, never red or any shade close to and he’d been so stupid for not being able to read those colours and understand what was happening to Jensen. Had made Jensen suffer so often for Jared’s ignorance and stubbornness.

“I’m sorry,” was the first thing he said to Jensen, not having touched him in a week. Jensen was at the sink washing dishes, shirtless in the summer heat. He wasn’t showing the baby yet, but he was thicker at the waist and in his face when he turned at the sound. Healthy. He wiped wet hands on his pants and leaned towards Jared. Hesitated. Jared was sure he’d scared him away more than once lately.

“I’m sorry. For everything.” Jared’s throat hurt. It might have been Sam’s doing, or it might have been the knot of emotions.

“Everything?”

“Fuck. No, honey. Not everything. I love you. I’m not sorry about that. I’m sorry I ever let anything bad happen to you when I could have stopped it. It doesn’t matter if I didn’t know,” he said, interrupting what he knew Jensen wanted to say. “I _should_ have known. I should have. I could have, but I fucked up. And I’m sorry. I will try to be better for you, if you still want me.”

Utterly unscripted, and maybe this was the way he should have been acting the whole time. It was this kind of instinct that had led him to Jensen in the first place, but then Jared had cordoned his heart off from facts and rules and roles and everything had gotten fucked up.

“I’m sorry.”

Sam found them later, back in that little room, Jared’s head in Jensen’s lap, and he stooped down by them to tell Jensen he was going to the store. It was the first time Sam left Jared alone with Jensen since he’d shown up, and Jared knew that was something important.

They both left him alone a few days later, and one of the phones on the wall rang. Once. Then stopped. Once more, and again, and Jared knew a signal when he heard one.

“Hello?” The uncomfortable silence told him who it was. “Dean. Are you okay?”

“Mm. I just talked to Sam. I-I figured—yeah, um, I’m okay, I guess.”

Silence.

“Dean—”

“I don’t know why I called.”

Jared suddenly understood the ‘maybe you should sit down’ mentality. He felt weak all over. Hot. Knew Dean was still in heat just by the satin-slip of that voice through the phone.

He cleared his throat. “It’s okay. I-I wanted to hear from you. I’m—Dean, I can never say this enough, but I’m sorry.”

_Silence._

“I’m sorry. You don’t have to say anything to me if you don’t want to. If, if you can’t. I get it. But I hope you can believe me when I say it.”

“I believe you,” was whispered after a broken-heart beat.

“I love you,” Jared probably-shouldn’t-have said.

Dean sniffed. “Call it love if you want to. You don’t know me.”

Jared closed his eyes. “I do. I mean, I do love you. And, if you let me, I _want_ to know you. It makes a lot more sense now. Everything…everything you said, and did…then. Where we were. I do know some things, don’t I?”

A reluctant, “Yeah,” and they were both thinking of the same things, Jared had a feeling.

“I’m sorry about what’s happening to you, Dean. It’s my fault. I wish there was—”

“What,” Dean snapped, “something you could do?” He laughed and the sound wasn’t entirely sane, and Jared’s face heated, his belly flipped. Fuck, he needed to help Dean, make his omega feel better—  

“Dean…”

“ _No_.”

“I could find you, if…”

“I know.”

“Do you want me to?”

“…No.”

“Why?”

Indecision, and Jared opened his eyes. Had to remind himself where he was, what had happened, and of _course_ he knew why. He cut through Dean’s in-drawn breath. “It’s fine. I’m sorry. I just… I’m glad you’re okay. Thank you for calling.”  
  
“Yeah, Jared. I’m fine.”     

He should have let Dean go, but it wasn’t right to have him so far away, to hear that craving in Dean’s tone and to know he could do something about it—

“You could come back. I can—I would do anything you wanted me to, but you shouldn’t be so far away from me. From, from _us._ ”

“I don’t even know why I called,” Dean repeated, talking to himself. “I—it’s just—I fucking can’t sleep. I can’t do _anything._ ” A deep breath and Jared could imagine Dean lying on his back in a sweat and slick soaked bed, alone—he knew Dean was alone, knew he wasn’t getting what he needed from that angel, and— “Is that all that will ever happen with you and me?”

“W-what?”

“Am I ever gonna be able to think straight around you, or is this just what it’s like? This, this fucking _want_. Like, like I’m a fucking dope fiend and you’re the only one with a fix. Just some chemical addiction I’ll never get over and you’ll never be able to fight, so we’ll never be able to be anywhere near each other. I’m not Jensen. I can’t _do this._ ”

He was babbling, but Jared understood. He nodded as if Dean could see him. “I know, Dean. It’s impossible here. You’re everywhere. Jensen is wearing your clothes, and Sam…he tastes—”

“What? _Never mind_.”

“You can’t just ‘never mind’ everything, Dean! You can’t. You don’t get to do this to us!” Jared put a hand over his mouth, but it was too late. The echo of the words was the echo of himself, the one he was trying to hide from, to outrun, to lose completely in this new place-and-time.

“Us? Do _this_? What the fuck, man. I am not doing _anything_. _This_ , for fucking once, is _not my fault_.”

Right. Right, this was _his_ fault. And he wasn’t making anything better, not making any progress like he had with Jensen, like Sam wanted him to. Jared rubbed his eyes and tried to start again. “Yeah. Yeah, I know. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Dean.”

“I know.”

“I don’t know what’s going to happen. I thought—I thought it would wear off. The heat. Is it?”

“Not sure. Maybe. Listen, I didn’t mean… I didn’t mean to call up and just fuckin’ go off. I don’t know what I thought,” and it was bitter, this confession. “I just needed to talk to you,” he admitted, quietly and sadly. “Was thinking… Sam and Jens, what they have—I can’t—I _don’t want_ to fuck that up for them. Make it hard on them. But I don’t… I don’t know what it’s gonna be like for me. I don’t know if I can be like…like this. And be around you. Or even Sam. It’s not… It’s—I don’t know.”

It would never be enough. “I’m sorry. Is there anything I _can_ do? Not now, I don’t mean that, okay? Is there some way that I can make you feel…I don’t know, safe? Or like you—that no one expects anything from you?”

“I dunno. I can’t think of anything right now.” Another laugh. “Well, I can think of _things_ , but nothing useful. Oh fuck. Dude, I gotta go. This was a bad idea.” But he didn’t hang up.

“Okay. Dean—”  
  
“Yeah, Jared, I know. You’re sorry. Thanks.”

“Okay. I love you.”

That’s when Dean hung up.

 He called back eighteen days later, but it was to Sam’s phone, and Sam left by himself to go pick up his brother.


	14. Chapter 14

Sam tapped his knuckles against the thin motel door. “Dean? Hey, it’s me.”

A muffled ‘hang on’, and Sam caught that buzz in his ears of an aged television clicking off. Imagined Dean taking the few steps to the door, closing his eyes and centering himself before opening it. Sam couldn’t have imagined Dean looking so thin, so impossibly tired. Barefoot, too. A clean tee shirt and threadbare jeans, and he looked more vulnerable than he would have naked, came the absurd thought. Free of bruises and bites—at least those not hidden under the shoulder of his shirt, Sam assumed. Cas couldn’t do anything about those, for one thing. And Dean probably wouldn’t let him.

He just stood there in the doorway, looking up at Sam, eyes a muddy green—

“Your eyes,” Sam blurted.

A crooked, pleased smile. “Yeah. Right? Finally.” Dean blinked hard as if that would help even more. “Uh,” he began. Chewed on his bottom lip as he stepped back. “C’mon in. I’m not ready, sorry.”

“It’s cool.”

Sam entered the surprisingly tidy room. He’d expected chaos and torn sheets, but the single queen bed was intact and Dean must’ve been letting the housekeeper in for the garbage at least… Or he hadn’t been eating, because there was not much evidence of…anything. Except empty beer bottles.  
  
Dean retrieved his little bathroom bag from behind the sink and tossed it to join a pile of items already on the bed.

There was no sign of Cas in the room. No fragrant ozone scent or an extra towel in the bathroom that Sam could see. One coffee cup on the counter. Dean saw him looking. He sighed.

“Cas. He, uh. He tried—we did… It didn’t work.” And Dean honest to god blushed. Any other circumstance and Sam would’ve been all over that, teasing mercilessly, but he kept it to himself, down wherever with the slow-simmer jealousy. Dean took a shaky breath and tried again. “I don’t know if it’s ’cause Jimmy is— _was_ , or would be—over there, whatever. Fuck. Jimmy was a Beta where…they’re from. So it didn’t help much—” Dean rubbed his forehead and sank down on the edge of the bed, gestured tiredly for Sam to take the small, armless lounge chair.

As Sam settled, Dean said, “I’m better. I feel good. Kinda like myself again, y’know?”

Sam nodded. Kept his face neutral. Dean still smelled like Halloween. Candy-sweet and smoky. The residual heat-scent was strong in the room. But he could also smell tears. Sadness. No, something stronger. Betrayal. And anger. They hadn’t fucked. Fought instead, and Castiel had left Dean.

“How long has Cas been gone?” Sam asked.

“I told him to get out that night,” Dean answered. He blinked again like he had at the door. “And before you freak out, I was _fine._ And he checked on me a few times. Brought me booze and stuff.”

A part of Sam did freak out. Bristled, flamed his face at the thought of Dean alone, _in heat._ Mindless and hurting and without anyone to protect him.

“Why’d he go?”

Dean shrugged and glanced away again. “Dunno. You know, war in Heaven and all that—”

“No, I mean… He left you. Why?”

“I don’t know. I—fuck. I didn’t _want_ him to go. But…but I didn’t want him to stay, either. Okay, but—and you know what? He’s being really sketchy, Sam.”  
  
“Like how?”

Another shrug. “I don’t wanna think about it right now. I don’t…fucking care, really. Sam—”

The way he said the word made Sam realise he’d drifted for a moment, had let his brain start running on reasons, suspicions, casting back to his interactions with the angel. But the…the _feeling_ wrapped around his own name snapped him back. Dean was looking at him, mouth in a cracked-lip pout, swampy eyes that kind of reminded Sam of their dad’s now in a bone-tired narrow glare that Sam knew not to take personally. This was just hard and Dean had never been good at sharing even when the situation was easy.

“Sam,” he repeated. “I don’t care. About Cas. I mean, I do, okay. You know I do. _He_ fucking knows it. But he’s not here, and I don’t want him here if he doesn’t want it, too. Apparently that’s the case and I fucking don’t care.”

“Dean—”

“I care about _you_. Listen, just listen. You said you didn’t want me like…like that. How I was. I get that. And you know what? Thank you.”

Sam’s mouth moved, worked at the words, but Dean kept going. “Sammy, you’re the only person in the world that knows me. Like, _knows me_. Anyone else, they’d have taken advantage of me—and you didn’t. You _didn’t_ ,” he insisted when Sam’s mouth opened again. “I don’t fuckin’—it doesn’t matter what happened. I did what I wanted. Or, what I had to do. I don’t fucking know.” Dean paused and fisted his hands and glared at the ceiling for a moment. He took a deep breath and Sam wanted to do it too, but there was something hard and stabbing in his ribs, twisting up his stomach, and only holding his breath, staying completely still, kept him from blacking out on that pain. It was Dean’s pain, and Sam wanted to hold onto it forever. Keep Dean from having to deal with it.

Another shuddering, long breath and Dean’s words came out more careful, measured. “Everything was fucked up. It’s not anymore. I know who I am. Who you are. I know what I want.”

When Dean stood up, the pain in Sam’s chest bloomed like a gunshot, but Sam could finally breathe. Seemed to draw Dean to him with the inhalation, until Dean was right there. Between Sam’s knees, but not touching. Hands at his sides, head down, those murky eyes were shimmering, will o’ the wisp, and there were still obsidian flecks in them, but Sam would never ever point that out. Sam took another breath, let his brother’s softening scent fill his mouth, tasted the faint, fading essence of him. Dean was tired, yes. And sad. But he wasn’t panicked, wasn’t scared.

Dean smiled, just a twitch of one corner of his mouth, as if he knew what Sam was doing.

“You’re all I’ve ever wanted, Sam,” Dean said, and his hands moved, wrists turned out like Sam remembered him doing under Jared, but there was no helplessness in this gesture. The vulnerability was all for Sam. “All I ever needed. It’s always been that way. There ain’t any excuses now. This is me. You wanted _me_ , and me is all tied up in you. And that’s the way I want it.”

Dean was saying a lot. But, typical, he wasn’t saying enough. Sam looked down at those hands, lingered there, moved his own, letting Dean know he wanted to touch him, but didn’t. He asked, “How much do you want?”

Dean’s tongue flicked over his bottom lip before he bit into it. Sam saw the muscles in his jaw tighten before he finally spoke. “I don’t want to—I _can’t_ go back to the way we were before. Before I left. Was gone. Taken, whatever. I don’t want that. I want this. You. I want you, Sam. And whatever you want. From me. You can have it.” Oddly, Dean chuckled. “It’s an as-is deal, though. Lots of wear and tear. Put it in the ditch a couple times—”

“Fuck, shut up,” Sam growled, and Dean laughed again as Sam snatched his wrists and pulled. Dragged Dean to him, onto him. Released his wrists to reach around and grab his brother’s ass and lift, forcing Dean to spread his legs or tip forward. Knees banged into legs and hips, but Dean straddled Sam, still laughing softly. Sam turned it into a groan when he shoved his hands under Dean’s shirt, up his back as far as he could reach and scraped his nails down over soft skin. Dean arched, head falling back and Sam bit him. Teeth to ribs, through the shirt. Not as hard as he could, or as hard as he wanted to, but he held on and Dean stayed like that, back bowed and breathing raggedly, his hands on Sam’s shoulders for balance.

“Dean, look at me,” Sam said, his heart slamming against his ribs hard enough he was sure Dean could hear it in his voice. “I love you.”

Dean smiled. Self-conscious, but genuine. It reached his eyes, made them flash. White little sparks in the gloom, stars seen through a break in a storm. Dean kissed him. Used his mouth to show Sam what his love felt like. Slow and strong, deep and breathless. Biting, teasing, possessive. It made them both pant and groan, struggle just to get closer, tighter, more.

Pushing deep, scraping teeth against Sam’s, Dean shuddered when he felt Sam fumbling with the buttons of his jeans, but then his kiss faltered when Sam only used the slack to jam his hands down the back of Dean’s pants.

He was wet back there. Slick or sweat or damp from the shower, Sam couldn’t tell. Wanted to know. Yanked at the jeans to get in deeper as Dean bounced in his lap. Tried to get away.

“Uh. N-no. Sam.”

“What? What is it?” Sam asked, even as his fingers curled, dug into the soft curve of Dean’s ass.

“I just… I don’t want to. I-I, uh—”

“Oh. Okay. It’s okay. Are you… Are you hurt?”

Dean lowered his eyes. Braced his hands on Sam’s chest, but he relaxed down onto Sam’s legs. “No. I don’t want to, is all. Not yet. I wanna wait.” He met Sam’s eyes. So close to them, Sam could see how cloudy his irises were, swirled with dirty colour. Like an hourglass slowly draining of sand, they would gauge how close Dean was to being himself again. Sam could wait them out.

“Okay,” Sam repeated. “That’s okay, Dean.” When Dean just squinted at him, Sam had to laugh. “But, uh… Can you come? Or is it—”

Dean nodded, tried to hide his smile. Gave up. “Yeah. Fucking _thank God_. It…hurts, though.”  
  
“Hurts?”  
  
“Yeah. Kinda bad. Like getting smacked in the nuts when it happens. It sucks. Sort of.”

“Uh, wow. Do… Do you wanna stop, then? We don’t have to—”

“No, I don’t wanna stop. Of course not.” Proof, Dean reached down and pulled his cock free from his jeans. Hard, tucked up straight and thick against his belly from the material half-trapping it, and no, nope, Sam needed all of it.

“Hey!” Dean yelped when Sam shoved at him. Grabbed Dean’s arm with one hand, with the other, jerked his pants down once he was standing. Dean struggled to help, mostly just tried to keep his feet as Sam tore at his clothes.

“Jesus, Sammy.”

But he stood, Sam still gripping his arm, and watched as Sam kicked off his own shoes and socks and jeans before hauling Dean onto him. Held him back by his arm when Dean tried to kiss him again. Instead, he kept space between them so they could both see when Sam caught Dean’s dick against his own, wrapped his hand around both and stroked the heads together almost too hard in his palm.

Dean gasped, but wriggled closer, spread his knees wide so his balls were nestled against Sam’s. He seemed so sensitive; twitching and grunting as Sam jerked them off. He could feel Dean staring at him. At his face, wanting Sam to look up at him, but he held out as long as he could. It was selfish, but fuck it. Sam wanted Dean to _want_ him. Want his touch and kisses, his cock, Sam’s hands and eyes on him. He needed that from Dean. Wanted to see how long Dean would go without giving up.

He broke before Dean did. Met Dean’s gaze and there was no time to decide if Dean was glaring or grinning before his mouth crashed into Sam’s. Thrust into Sam’s grip once, twice, then fell into some erratic rhythm like he _wished_ he was being fucked. Sam wormed his other hand between them, twisted it to cup Dean’s balls. Heavy, full. So soft and hot. Sam pulled on them, rubbed them against his own and got a hickey sucked into his neck for his efforts.

Dean moaned when Sam released him. Lifted up a little when Sam pushed deeper between his legs, long fingers searching, spreading, dipping. Sticky, gelled slick, only a hint of it really and Sam was determined not to be disappointed. Store bought would be fine. He popped one finger through the surface tension, touched Dean, traced a gentle circle there. Dean was very still, slack-jawed pout telling Sam he wasn’t sure how he felt about this change, either. But when Sam curled his finger, slipped easily inside, Dean hissed and shook his head. A pleading look, dingy rings thin around plated pupils.

“N-no—”

Sam withdrew his hand immediately. Put it on Dean’s thigh and smoothed it up to his ribs. “Okay. Sorry. Are you sure?”

“Yeah. Yeah, Sam. Just make me come. Pl-please.”

 _Please._ That hurt. Was something Dean had to say _then_ , _before_. Not now.

“Dean, hey. Listen to me.”

Dean sighed and gave him an exasperated look. His hips jerked, dick prodding against Sam’s belly as a reminder. Sam took his hand from Dean’s ribs and yarded him down into a kiss, dipped his tongue into Dean’s mouth. And again, between words.

“Just—you don’t ever have to say ‘please’—or ‘thank you’—or ‘I’m sorry’. Not to me. You don’t have to beg—unless you _want_ to, okay?”

Dean’s answer was a cracked moan. A nod that clicked his teeth against Sam’s. A full body shudder that told Sam Dean was overwhelmed. He kissed Sam back, biting as he did it. Nipped at Sam’s cheek and jaw, kissed away the pinch and whined when Sam grabbed the back of his neck in one hand and their dicks in the other and squeezed with both.

That Dean was getting better was evident when he strained against Sam’s hold on his neck, fought the pressure that used to bring him to his knees. He didn’t pull away, just pushed and Sam held him there, encouraged Dean silently to test himself. Dean writhed under his hand as if trying to find that spot and when he couldn’t, he looked at Sam and it was definitely a win.

“Sammy.”

“I know, Dean. I love you. Fuckin’ god, so much.”

Dean’s dick leaked still, viscous, not quite slippery enough, but it worked. Sam made it work, jerked them both off hard and fast, sweating with the effort of it. Petted Dean, scratched his nails through his soft hair. Twisted his grip around, held them together toward the heads and Dean stopped moving finally.

The chair back creaked as Dean tensed, his hands gripping the headrest. He gasped into Sam’s mouth, eyes shut tight. Let Sam lick his lips, his teeth, slurred ‘fuck’ around Sam’s tongue as he came. So thick it rolled out in pearls, white as glue and streaked with blood. The air went bitter and metallic in Sam’s nose. Then honey and ashes and blood: _Dean._

Dean hissed, jerked his hips back, slipped out of Sam’s hold. Sam’s free hand was warm against Dean’s cheek, his neck. Dean didn’t resist when Sam pulled him. Kissed his jaw, his neck, the just-healed bite marks on his shoulder and Dean rolled his head to one side and let him. Bucked up a little to smear leaking come over Sam’s fingers.

Dean peered down between them as he caught his breath, watching as Sam gently smoothed Dean’s come over his own cock, but when he tightened his hand and started to work himself, Dean slipped out of his lap. “Lemme—”

Down on his knees, tongue between Sam’s fingers, cleaning the backs of them, then he took Sam’s wrist and pulled his hand away. Dean’s mouth was soaking like he’d been dying to get Sam in there, and Sam didn’t think he actually swallowed once sucking him off. Got them both wet with a frothy mix of saliva and Dean’s gooey come. Both hands tugging and stroking his cock, Dean twisting his lips on the end of it like it was a fucking sucker and dropping his jaw, arching up, remembering just the right angle to get Sam down his throat. Pulling off to lick the whole long, wide length of the underside just to cram it back inside him. Wet palms around Sam’s balls, squeezing just-right, pulling too hard and perfect and Sam let Dean have the first jet of come from him, then put a hand to his forehead and held him back to get it on Dean’s cheek, his lips. Dean batted his lashes, wanting to see but afraid of it getting in his eyes, flushed and blushing so fucking pretty and they both ruined it when Sam leaned down and licked his come off Dean’s upper lip and the side of his nose and Dean jerked away and squawked, “ _Dude_ , _ew_!”

Laughter, and Dean held up his messy hands, wiped at his dripping face with the back of one, which really only made everything worse and more amusing to Sam.

“Oh my god, just stop. Stop, here, get in the shower.”

“Okay. Wow.”

Sam fixed the water for him so Dean didn’t have to touch anything, then fetched them both the last two beers in the mini-fridge. Passed Dean his over the curtain.

“Makes the beer taste even better,” Dean said under his breath and into the water.

“Huh?”

“Nothin’.”

A quiet come down after that, and it wasn’t until Dean was dressed again and fucking with his hair in the foggy mirror that Sam conceded there was more they had to talk about. Things Dean couldn’t ignore no matter how much he wanted to.

Leaning on the bathroom door frame, Sam asked, “Dean?” Could tell by the tiny little pause of Dean’s fingers through his hair that he knew what was coming.

“Yeah, Sammy?”

“Should I have stopped it? You and Jared. I didn’t know what you wanted. I didn’t know if you’d gone to him yourself, or if he’d come after you. I didn’t want to make things worse for you, but you…”

Dean had gone very still, hands on the sink for balance. Was looking at Sam in the mirror and Sam had to look away. Would never tell Dean how much those motley eyes looked just like their dad’s. Said to the shower-damp space between them, “I’m sorry if I did the wrong thing. If I made it worse.”

Dean sighed. Washed the gel from his hands, then turned to Sam. Reached for him and Sam gave him his arm, unfolded from across his chest. Dean led them away from the bathroom and back to the bed. Let go and took a step back, and gave Sam a peculiar head-to-toe look and then of all things, smiled.

“There’s no fucking playbook for what happened,” Dean said. “I can’t even _begin_ to explain how fucked up I was. There’s not a combination of drugs on this planet that could make a person feel like…that. But I’m okay now. You’re okay. Those two are okay. They are, right?”

“Yeah. They’re fine.”

Dean clapped his hands twice, loudly. “Well all right then. Fuck it. Whatever happened, happened. I ain’t mad at you. Does that make you feel better? No? What the fuck. What do you want me to say? You wanted to dash in and rescue me like some princess in distress? You’re the fucking princess, princess.”

“ _Dean._ ”

“ _Sam_ ,” Dean mocked, grinning. It was forced, just made it more obvious how tired he was. “We’re okay, little brother. Here, it’s like this: whatever you did or didn’t do or I wanted or didn’t—whatever _they_ did—” and with that, Sam had his answer about whether or not Dean had sought Jared out, he was sure “—it’s _okay._ It worked out, and I don’t blame or wish this or that, or fuckin’ whatever. I’m _home_ , Sam. I’m right here with you. I’m _me._ You’re safe and I—it’s good, okay?”

Sam nodded, no way to express his relief and Dean didn’t want any more explanations, and the rest—Dean was right. It would figure itself out.

Dean’s smile was more natural, seeing that Sam relaxed, that he wasn’t going to baby-brother needle about the issue. Copied Sam’s nod and there was nothing else to do but move forward.

Sam cleared his throat. “So, um, Bobby’s coming home, by the way. He’s in San Francisco for some reason?”

Dean raised an eyebrow and sat down on the bed, suddenly very interested in wadding up the clothes he’d been wearing when Sam had arrived and stuffing them into his bag. “Weird. Okay. Gonna be a full house. Maybe we should—”

“Do you have all your stuff? There’s something I wanna show you.”

“Uh. Yup.” But when Dean didn’t move, Sam knew he’d missed something.

“What’s the matter?”

Dean’s leg bounced, then he wiped a hand across his mouth. Tells Sam knew by heart. Dean was nervous. “I just…um. It’s…gonna be _weird._ Going back there.”

“Seeing Jared?”

Dean shifted, half-shrugged. “Yeah.”

Sam dug into his pocket and pulled out something that clinked when it landed on the bed next to Dean. Dean plucked it up and shook the little key on its ring. “What is this?”

Sam couldn’t help the lazy, cat-stretch smile that tipped one side of his mouth up. “You can ask Jared.”

Dean frowned, flicked the key over in his palm, looking for identifying marks. “Well, what—Sammy, what the fuck?” His head jerked up and he glared at Sam. “This isn’t—are you fucking seri—Sam, what is this?”

“Yeah, Dean. Serious.” Sam shrugged. “It’s what he wanted. Knows you won’t trust him otherwise. And he wants you to. To trust him. To be comfortable around him.”

“Jesus christ. Here—” Dean flung the key back at Sam, who caught it one-handed. “No. I’m not—you fuckin’…just k-keep that. That’s fine. If h-h-he wants t-to—n-n-needs that, or whatever—that’s fine. Uh. What the fuck.”

Sam laughed. “Alright. It’s okay. We’ll work it out later. Anyway, he wants you to feel safe,” he repeated.

“H-how long, uh, when—”

“A couple weeks now. He seems comfortable with it.”

Dean denied the whole thing with a few quick shakes of his head, eyes fluttering like dust was in them. “He doesn’t have to do that.”

“Then you should tell him that. It’s up to you,” Sam supplied gently.

Dean’s mouth opened and closed a few times, eyebrows creeping up. “Uh, up. Up t-to me? W-w-why is it up to _me_? What about. What about Jensen?”

“What about him?”

“Sam. What about Jensen. What—doesn’t he want, want. Jared. Aren’t they…”

“Yeah, they are. And Dean, I love Jensen. Love him and want him. Are you okay with that?”

Dean paled the more Sam spoke. He swallowed audibly. “Uh. I-I don’t. I—Sam.” It was most of a question, somewhat a plea.

“He needs me. Me and Jared, both. But you’re not Jensen, and we don’t expect you to be. Jared knows it’s not the same for you. …Unless you want it to be.”

Again: “Sam.” But then Dean threw a hand up, blocked Sam’s response. “Just…later. I can’t right now. I-I-I mean, you and Jensen, okay. Fine. I get it.” A dazed smile. “Hard to be jealous of myself, I guess.”

Sam nodded, not daring to speak, his pulse pounding. He hadn’t been able to think through what to do if Dean had drawn a line here.

Sam took a slow, deep breath before he managed words; he hadn’t wanted to use this against Dean, as an argument. “Dean, so… Okay, good, I mean, thank you. I’m glad. I… Um, about Jensen. He— _we._ He and I—”

“When’s he due?” Dean interrupted.

“You knew?”

Dean shrugged. “I didn’t know that I knew at first. I just felt like—” He shivered and looked around the room. Found his boots under the air conditioner and reached for them. “I don’t know how to explain it,” he said, and he was lying; Sam knew the same way Dean knew Jensen was carrying Sam’s baby. Instinct, body language. Scent.

Dean was a smokeless fire, pure and bright. It had faded, comparatively, probably would fade more, maybe disappear forever.

“Then they told me, later,” Dean supplied, focusing on his laces. “Before you…”

“Yeah. Okay. …Uh, you—you’re…” Another deep breath. “You and Jared—”

“No. No, definitely not. Trust me.”

“No, I know. He can’t. I guess he’s…fixed.”

Dean’s “Yeah,” was almost lost under stomping his boots into place.

“Did you know that too?”

Dean sighed and scrubbed his hand over his face. “Can we not, about that? It’s fuckin _over_ , which is _all_ I wanted. Anything said or done before you walked in this room I am not fuckin’ accountable for, and I swear to God I will fight anyone who says otherwise.”

Sam put his hands up. “Okay. Got it.”

A louder sigh.

“What?”  
  
“Dude, just say it. Stop prolonging this interrogation.”  
  
“What? I didn’t—” But he did. He had things he needed to know. “Dean… Jared’s…not really okay. He kinda lost his shit after you left. You, um, you knew about Jimmy—his Jimmy, right?”

“Yeah.” The word wasn’t much of one, and Dean was just standing there, hands at his side, lips slightly parted, eyes sliding around Sam’s face.

“I know you’re all… I know it’s weird. With Jared and—and you. And, well, I don’t know how much it will make a difference, but…I wouldn’t let Jen be with him at all if I didn’t think it was safe. If I didn’t trust him. I do. And not just because of the cage.”

Dean flinched when he mentioned it, but nodded. “Yeah. Uh, I guess that… It makes sense. I mean, it’s not like I’m _scared_ of him—”

“’Course not,” Sam agreed lightly.

“He probably won’t even like me now that I’m back to normal,” Dean said, mimicking Sam’s tone unconsciously.

“I’m sure we’ll all be able to get along,” Sam said, and Dean narrowed his eyes, bunny-twitched his nose, then went for his bag.

“We’ll see,” he said.


	15. Chapter 15

EPILOGUE

 

They banged through the front door like they owned the place. Technically, it was in Bobby’s name, but Sam had found it and Dean offered up his stash of _dracongield_ that Sam figured long spent, enough of it to pay in full with some left over for furniture. Dean had been hiding it for their retirement, but living vicariously was good enough for him, he claimed.

There was a threatening hiss, a loud _shh_ that made them both jump, step more cautiously through a house old enough that it _had_ to be haunted.

It wasn’t. They’d made sure of it. Spells, incantations, smudging, rituals. Salt, holy water, sigils. Anything and everything Sam could find by way of protection was carved into, poured over, splashed around, and stashed inside the little house. More like a cabin, really. Cedar plank walls and a shake roof in decent shape kept three bedrooms and a kitchen that Dean loved and a living room with a picture window all cozy and warm in the winter and cool in the summer, with help from the tall forest curving its dark border around them. Off the main highway and close to the Big Sioux River, it was secluded enough no one bothered them even in a friendly-neighbor way, and no one could hear Jensen’s loud music or cared about the gunshots from the practice area Dean set up to teach Jared and Jensen how to draw, aim, and fire as well as any hunter, though Jared had already proven himself to be deadly accurate, at least at close range.

They wouldn’t let the pair hunt, though. The guns were for protection. There was a little tin shed at the back of the house where Sam had installed a reloading station, and Jensen became very skilled at making magickal bullets. Witch-killers and ones with demon traps etched into them; casings filled with poppy, artemisium, belladonna, and digitalis, stoppered by silver Jensen learned to smelt himself. That was as close as they got to actual hunting.

Bobby sorted through his triplicates and now the house contained a small, decent occult library that was starting to spill into the hallway. Dean passed the room, glanced inside and lifted his chin in silent greeting to its occupant. Jared smiled and put a finger to his lips and Dean winked in response. Sam was a step behind him and Dean heard him pause at the library and then go inside. He continued down the hall.

The largest bedroom was sparsely furnished, the main attraction a huge bed on a sturdy wooden frame. The colour of the sheets, stripped of the heavy down comforter during the summer heat, always made Dean think of that first day he’d woken up in Jared and Jensen’s bedroom. Dark purple and incredibly soft, the material was draped messily over Jensen’s hips. He didn’t stir as Dean entered the room, or when Dean shoved out of his shoes and jeans and flannel and crawled onto the bed in his underwear and road-dirty tee shirt. He moved quietly, careful not to bounce the baby Jensen had his fingers tucked under.

Two pairs of brown eyes opened, one flashing gold-gilt, the other tending towards amber but otherwise utterly normal and edge-tilted like Sam’s. Identical smiles appeared. Jensen’s was sleep-slow but the little boy’s was bright, ecstatic in the way only a baby’s could be, and Dean grinned back at both of them.

“How’s my little guy doin’?” Dean hummed, poked the baby’s ribs and got a squealing laugh for an answer. “What’s up, Ezzie? You treatin’ your oma here nice?” He wriggled his finger over Esmé’s belly and won another gurgling laugh. Dean took pity on the kid and instead dipped his head low and kissed Esmé’s cheek. The faint smell of ginger made his nose tingle.

“Hiya,” Jensen said when Dean leaned over the baby and kissed him too before dropping down onto the pillows with a groan.

“So tired. This bed. I dream about it.” He closed his eyes. Twitched a couple times when the gruesome images of the last hunt festered, oozed across his consciousness. A pack of werewolves hunting a coven of witches, and it had been three days and nights of nonstop searching, hunting, pretending, driving, fighting, shooting, burning, salting and digging and not sleeping to get the job done. Dean had been so exhausted he’d given the keys to Sam halfway here, worried about nodding off and crashing.

Here, not home. Dean refused to call it that. It was ‘their house’. Theirs, Jensen and Jared’s and now it belonged to Esmé too.

Sam and Jensen’s baby had been born in early February during the false dawn. It snowed for weeks beforehand, but that day had shown itself clear and blue and the sun’s pale glow had the snow drifts glittering. The labour and delivery were surprisingly easy. Jensen had started anxiously waddling around the house at noon, dragging blankets and cushions and pillows into the living room. Dean helped him build a nest, without being asked.

Jensen settled back against Sam’s chest and after a few hours of groaning and cursing, their son had slipped from him and into the waiting hands of the local sheriff, Jody Mills, who was _definitely not_ Bobby’s new girlfriend, despite the fact they were together almost constantly when not working, or that they bickered like an old married couple.

Jody knew Sam and Dean already, and Sam couldn’t help but cry when she put his son into his arms. He’d killed Jody’s son—or what had been her son before he’d become a sort of zombie. She touched Sam’s cheek affectionately and smiled at him.

“Esmé Owen Winchester,” Jody introduced. Jensen had insisted on the middle name when he’d heard what had happened to Jody. The baby’s first name he’d pulled from a book of short stories he’d found in the Impala’s glovebox during one of the many long drives he and Dean took when both were too restless to sleep. Dean had pointed out Esmé was usually a girl’s name, but Jensen had countered that his own name could be a girl’s as well, and hadn’t Dean been named after his grandmother? Besides, at the time they didn’t know what the baby was going to be.

He was perfect. Fingers, toes, eyes all accounted for. Healthy if the squalling was any indication, and Jody assured them it was. Hungry too, latching onto Jensen’s slightly swollen breasts enthusiastically and often. Nursing was the reason Jensen was usually found in bed. The milk he produced was carried mostly inside his body, putting pressure on his lungs and making it hard for him to go far without being short of breath. Easily exhausted, he and the baby kept close to home, and Jared watched over them. Kept them safe while learning about all the things out there that could hurt them.

If Jared was obsessed with lore and what the brothers hunted, at least he was passionate about it. Sam worried about him for a while, wondered if this was just some new way of running from himself, but then Dean showed Sam a notebook in which he’d started loosely clocking the hours Sam himself spent researching, just to prove a point.

There was running, then there was coping.

After that, when they weren’t together, Sam called Jared most nights and they at least each _said_ they were going to go to bed after the ‘good night’, instead of staying up ‘just’ a few more hours. Sam almost always did—and Dean tried his best to make the new routine appealing. And Jensen would send them pics of Jared cradling Esmé against his chest, both sleeping soundly in the overstuffed chair crowding the corner of the bedroom, the clock next to them proclaiming the late hour.

But that was after the baby was born. In the months leading up to it, they were all kind of a mess. Dean didn’t like to think about it: Jared so disconsolate and lethargic he was almost moving in reverse. Jensen’s mood swings as he processed through what his other personalities had been hiding from him most of his life. Sam’s helplessness in the face of it all. Dean’s own trauma turning the rest of the summer into a whiskey-blurred nightmare.

Having the house to work on helped. Gave Dean and Jared something to bond over. Had them communicating and getting used to each other slowly, cautiously. And it was when Sam started incorporating salt and iron and sigils and hex bags into the remodeling that Jared showed real interest in learning their trade. As much as Sam would allow, at least. Regulated Jared to the books and the internet, to information gathering.

Bobby was confounded but pleased to have another set of eyes and hands at his disposal, and the old man and Jensen even pieced together a station wagon for Jared to get back and forth to Bobby’s as they redistributed the library. The omega loved being around Bobby—or ‘Rob’ as he sometimes accidentally called him. Tooled around the junkyard and showed surprising mechanical dexterity. (Dean would scoff; of _course_ Jens had skills, weren’t they so much alike?) Then Jensen got too fat to bend over an engine block, but by then the house was finished and Bobby was glad to have his own space back (but he called to see how his boys were, and to bring Jody around to check on ‘the good twin’s’ health).

Jensen carried easily, only suffering from morning sickness for a little while. Gained some weight, and fuck he looked adorable kinda chubby. Sam certainly seemed to think so. Could hardly keep his eyes off Jensen. Or his hands. And if Dean got jealous, all he had to do was sidle up next to the omega and he’d get drawn in, hugged, curled around, and Sam was happily forced to contend with them both.

And yeah, Dean got jealous. So what? It wasn’t that he begrudged Jensen anything, it’s just that Dean was greedy. Always had been, especially when it came to Sam. Greedy…and shy. Just a little bit, still, even after…all that. Didn’t always know how to ask for what he wanted. Found it easy to laugh off his lust, embarrassed by it, by what Sam could so easily do to him. But with Jensen in the mix, there was less pressure on Dean, less _focus_ on him, so he could relax into the situation instead of getting steamrolled by it. Learned from Jensen how to just…let go. How to _want_ shamelessly and take without guilt what was given to him with so much love and eagerness.

Jensen was a black hole for pleasure, Dean decided. Teased him about it. Jensen just smirked and held himself open for Dean’s hand as they tried to figure out if Dean could get him off like Sam and the Alpha could, now that Dean was free of the drugs that had fucked him up so bad. Almost free. Those obsidian flecks in his eyes persisted, starlight in just the right bit of sun, but no one said anything about it, though Jared more than anyone could be caught staring.

It turned out that Dean was _not_ able to get Jensen off, by hand, dick, or tongue, but wow was it fun to try. As the year hedged into winter and the South Dakota snow kept them shuttered in, it was commonplace for Sam and Jared to look up from whatever tattered grimoire they were shoulder-to-shoulder over and realise the other twins had disappeared. Easily tracked to the bedroom, where Dean would have the omega spread out on his back, tied to the four corners of the bed, blindfolded even though he couldn’t see over his belly any more down to where Dean had him open on both hands because Jensen was so afraid of being hurt, of tearing on the baby when it was finally ready to come.

Even without his eyes, Jensen always knew who was around him, and would call out, beg for an Alpha’s touch to make him come. Jared refused the call many times. Would back away and Dean would watch him leave, a narrowed eye on Jared’s reluctant, self-imposed retreat. Dean might have felt worse about Jared’s exclusion if Sam and Jensen weren’t taking care of the Alpha on their own time, so, whatever.

Then one morning Sam didn’t let Jared leave. Dean was deep in Jensen, working him wide and messy and knuckling gently against that thick cervix as Jensen sobbed in pleasure-fear and plucked at his dripping milk-tits like Dean wanted him to, and when Sam, sitting in that chair Jared would later cuddle Sam’s baby in, saw Jared flirt an eye around the doorway, he made him come into the room.

There was nothing anyone could do if Jared hadn’t done as commanded, of course. But he did. Came right up to Sam and stood over him, waiting to see what he would be allowed. Dean looked away when Sam picked his jeans up off the floor, going for his keys. Concentrated on pulling Jensen wide with his thumbs, rubbing almond oil into his perineum to soften the flesh there. Jensen’s genitalia had sort of shrunk, tucking his balls up tights and making his dick just about useless. He didn’t even get hard anymore, but he didn’t need to to come, and apparently, it was normal for a male omega to go through this the closer he got to delivery. Jensen lost a lot of body hair too, was now smooth between his legs, around his nipples and on his chest and stomach. Even his already-slow-growing beard had gone to peach fuzz. He’d go back to normal once the baby stopped breastfeeding—except for the hair. That would never grow back.

Sam was talking to Jared, the Alpha just standing sedately as Sam removed his cock cage. It hadn’t ever come off with Dean around before now. As much as he’d rejected the idea of it, it _had_ helped Dean feel more comfortable near Jared, and now…he kind of wanted to run. He sort of wished that mask-thing that Sam made Jared wear occasionally was on him too. That Jared was muzzled and cuffed and caged and that Sam wasn’t so fucking far away, was on the bed with them, but it was Jared approaching and Sam stayed in the corner.

Jensen cooed something, looking up at Jared with delighted eyes, Dean’s wrist caught tight in his hand. “Don’t, Dean,” Jensen begged. “It’ll be okay,” he promised. “Stay right here.”

Jared stripped as he came to them, and Dean shivered when Jared circled around behind him. Tried to busy himself stroking Jensen again, one-handed because the omega knew better than to release him yet, but he couldn’t focus. Felt cold and numb and, and scared. Of Jared. Of himself and the way a hot spike of lust burnt him from asshole to heart when he couldn’t see Jared anymore. It wasn’t like Dean hadn’t thought about it, hadn’t imagined what it might be like to fuck Jared again, now that he was back to himself. If…if he _could._ Take—everything the Alpha had to give him. If Jared would hurt him.

Dean shivered again and Jensen clenched around his fingers sympathetically, fluttered excitedly on him then, wetting Dean’s palm with slick as Jared crawled up next to them. Closer to Jensen, because he knew Dean was freaking out. Sam swore he couldn’t pick up Dean’s scent anymore, and Dean thought he was mostly lying. These two had no trouble with it, so Jared would know.

Jared stretched out next to Jensen, angled as well as he could away from Dean. Petted his omega’s swelling chest, cupped those tender teacup breasts and leaned in, nuzzled a kiss onto Jensen’s neck, and Jensen was holding them both now, one hand on Jared’s head, the other keeping Dean prisoner. Jared spent a long time with his face buried in Jensen’s neck, and Dean lied sometimes too. He knew what it was like, how fucking _awesome_ Jensen smelled like this. Aroused, happy, pregnant, he was pheromone heaven, and Jared scooted closer like he couldn’t help it, belly down, then a leg across one of Jensen’s, pulling him open even more and that scent was suffocating Dean. Making him forget in flashes what he was afraid of, remembering only what to do to make more of it. Got his fist bundled up and popped back inside Jensen, wrist deep just like that.

Jensen moaned, writhed, pushed himself down on Dean’s forearm. Twisted and gave an irritated little whine when Jared wouldn’t lift his head and kiss him like he wanted, but Jared was watching Dean now, peeking from the sweet safety of the curve of Jensen’s shoulder. Couldn’t see what Dean was doing, but he could see Dean’s face and Dean couldn’t hide. Jared distracted him, had him ducking and shifting to cover how fucking hard he’d got, as stupid as he knew that was.

Jensen hiked his knees, caressing his lower belly, and Dean leaned up. Kissed Jensen’s fingers and only then did he realise someone still had his other wrist. That Jensen has traded Jared the hold.

The battle was over the moment he noticed.

Dean wanted Jared to touch him, wanted it for _months_. More than just with fingers passing something between them, brushing by each other in the kitchen. Dean _missed_ Jared. Missed that bone-deep _need_ he’d always felt seeping from Jared, the inexorable pull of his own heart-blood-cock towards this brother’s-twin. Dean had learned to give up—to _love_ wanting Sam, and for so many reasons, and Jared was right here, so much the same. And what he’d done—Dean had pardoned himself for what he’d had to do and what he’d done just because, done the same for Sam and Jensen, and it wasn’t fair to leave Jared out.

“Dean,” Jared mouthed, head up now, and Jensen rocked himself on Dean’s fist because Dean was frozen in place. Jared moved, kneeling so he could grind one huge hand over Jensen’s soft little cock, scoop him up balls and all and squeeze, made him squirm all the more on Dean’s fist. Traded one of Dean’s wrists for the other, circled his fingers loosely around Dean’s forearm where it disappeared into the omega.

“Dean,” Jared said again, this time right up against Dean’s cheek, moving Dean’s arm for him because he couldn’t do anything but close his eyes and _shake_.

“Dean,” he heard. Opened his eyes for Sam, watching him from way the fuck over there, but he would come to Dean’s rescue if he needed it. He kind of wanted Sam to; push Jared away from him and—

Dean got to his knees. Pulled slowly out of Jensen the way he knew the omega liked, so his fist had Jensen’s hole blossoming open and showing lipstick red inside. Jared slid his hand down and dipped into that gape, made Jensen gasp and shove up onto his Alpha’s fingers, desperate for them, and to come. Dean had been teasing him for, what, an hour already? Longer? They’d spent most of a day-or-ten at this game before, but Jensen was getting more and more needy with each passing week.

Jared laughed. “Wait, honey,” he murmured, smoothed Jensen back down gently. Took those honey-slick fingers and lifted Dean’s chin. Dean wouldn’t kiss him though. Couldn’t, not after seeing Sam, the transference of Jared-to-Sam and back still too easy unless he was watching closely.

“Okay,” Jared hummed. That hand through Dean’s hair, short like Jensen’s used to be. A caress along his neck where he felt nothing but a remembered weakness. Over his spine, lower, touching Dean featherlight over his hole. Jared’s lips against his still, still not kissing. “Please,” he felt. “Let me,” Jared begged, so quiet. “I won’t. I promise I won’t. I won’t hurt you.”

Dean had heard it before.

_I won’t knot. I can stop. We’ll go slow._

And just like that time, Dean wasn’t going to stop it from happening. But it was different now. Even if he was scared (and he was, _definitely_ ) he wanted it. He’d forgiven Jared for everything and since he was too much of a shit-head to have said it yet, the least he could do was prove it. And it had nothing to do with Sam anymore—except okay it kind of did, because Sam was the hottest thing Dean had ever laid eyes on, gotten _laid by_ , and when he squinted and before Jared had cut his hair into the ridiculously cute little bob he had it in now so that it curled around his ears and along his jaw, Sam and Jared were impossible to tell apart.

It was just—he liked Jared. Maybe loved him a little bit. Loved Sam more than anything ever, but these two, Jensen and Jared, they were on that same meter and—

“ _Dean_.”

He didn’t know if Jared had been talking, was asking him something, just saying it because it wasn’t real to him, either, that this was happening. Didn’t have an answer other than to scoot his knees apart, tuck himself on the end of the bed between Jensen’s spread legs where he could kitten-rub his face on the omega’s swollen stomach, and Jared moved like a tree coming down over them both. Swift, powerful, deadly, and that was part of it, something special to Dean that this…this _creature_ with Sam’s shape was going to fuck him—goddamn, that made feel Dean sick-hot and degenerate, and they were all a little like this. Sam had asked Dean too many questions about what it’d been like with Jared, how he felt about his own blurred twin blushing and pregnant under him, for that not to be the case. Dean would never just come out and say it to Jared, but with what Sam was doing to the Alpha, he had to kind of know, at least.

The bottle of almond oil was stolen from the towel Dean had laid out next to Jensen’s thigh. It was already warm, and too thin to be his own slick when he felt it run down his thigh. He didn’t miss that, not much, liked Sam having to work for it. Loved it when Sam made Jensen do it for him because fuck, he was a slutty thing and so good with that frosting-flavoured mouth.

Jared’s mouth was not a safe place. Was poisonous and life-changing and the first time Dean had seen him in a muzzle his knees had gone weak, relieved that he wasn’t alone in feeling that way. It was the one thing Jared couldn’t seem to help doing: that instinct to bite, to claim, stronger than promises, and not even swearing to Sam that it wouldn’t happen again, or again after that, even Sam clocking him in the face, splitting Jared’s lip on his own wolf-scary fang, stopped him from trying it. And now he was behind Dean, thumbing up against Dean’s oiled asshole and stroking his own cock, back and forth, breathing open-mouthed, those teeth right fucking there—and Dean would probably let him do _that_ too, again, because why not? Jared had already claimed him, altered his blood and brain and a chunk of his heart, forever, even if the rest of his body was mostly back to normal.

Jared’s thumb rubbing him, slipping in. Dean twitched, looked over at Sam, then away from the electric shock of his brother’s unabashed voyeurism. He could watch Dean and Jensen long past the time when Dean would have lost his own mind with lust, would’ve come ten times if it were possible, crawled on hands and knees with an almost holy need to join in. But Sam just watched. Kept his fingers laced on his belly and his dick in his pants, but not a leer from his lips or his eyes from being the most greedy of colours.

Both were there now, along with his own undercurrent of danger, but he was still relaxed. Maybe they’d talked about this, Sam and Jared, planned it. Maybe they were using Dean to test Jared’s training. Maybe not. Probably not, but Dean’s dick tapped his belly, excited by the prospect of being bait. Of tempting a monster, taming it.

He said Jared’s name, like that one time, somewhere else. Jared remembered. Brushed his cock against Dean’s balls.

Dean said ‘Alpha’ like he was in heat and Jared sighed, absolved at last, and took Dean easy and slow, right up to where his knot would form and that little bit more and the only reason Dean didn’t go face down and squeal with how good it felt was Jensen’s summer-ripe body in the way. Was forced to hold himself up, over Jensen, hands on either side of the omega’s hips.

Jared was so strong, stronger than before even, or—it must be Dean was weaker, that the drugs had changed him like that too. Muscles creaking, teeth rattling, Jensen trusting beneath him, Dean tried to stay upright.

“Jared, I c-can’t—oh _god_.”

Hands beside his own, taking some of the burden. Making Dean feel like an animal being bred, boxed in by a bigger, stronger male. Dropped his face and rubbed lips and cheek along Jensen’s hip, felt the omega’s hand in his hair, threading, caressing, then _pulling_. Holding him down, twisting, and Jensen was looking past Dean, up at Jared. Obeying something he’d seen in Jared’s eyes and Dean would have bruises from the impact of Jared’s hips against him, had no way of lessening it, nowhere to go.

Pressure and give, over and over, and Dean yanked against Jensen’s hold, tried to see Jared, to tell him without saying it that his knot was thickening, that Dean didn’t know what to do. Didn’t know what he really wanted. That the size and cruelty of the thing was going to damage him. Hadn’t yet, but it would. Would rip him open just like Jensen was afraid of. Jared was so long, so thick, he could keep it outside and still fuck Dean thoroughly with what was left over. Or…or he could get inside _now_ and give all of that big dick to Dean and _maybe_ Dean wouldn’t die.

He thrashed, escaped Jensen’s hold, and _slammed_ back, his body deciding for him.

“In, fuckin’ s-stay _in_!”

Jared did, but he didn’t stop moving, jackrabbiting his hips so fast and hard Dean needed help holding his stance. Jared got an arm around Dean’s abdomen, a hand on his shoulder and Dean would have thanked him for pinning him, keeping him from hurting himself—because he fucking wanted to, suddenly consumed with the idea of ruining himself on Jared.

Escape wasn’t an option anymore unless he was really willing to do that, but Jared wouldn’t let him, and _fuck_ , the feeling was quickly becoming maddening. Hot, full. _Agony._ Dean screamed through clenched teeth as Jared’s knot tripled in size all at once, ballooned up and crushed Dean’s prostate, filled every last centimeter of him, made him feel like he was going to piss and throw up, his heart pounding from the terror of it.

Vaguely, through the blood-red haze clouding his senses, he felt Jensen scooting away and Dean was forced onto his elbows. Head down, he let the tears come, _sobbed_ when his legs were jostled wider. He was being ripped in two.

He wasn’t, and when he could breathe again…it was just something strangely heavy inside him, stoney and massive, but not hurting him and it even felt _good_ when Jared made his cock jump, nudged deep inside Dean.

“Fuck,” Dean breathed. “Fuckfuckfuck—” Rolled his hips, then his eyes, because it was _incredible_. So full, so fucking _owned._ Locked tight to Jared and soon he was gonna be pumped full of come and he wanted that too, wanted so much in him that he would taste it. Rocked himself, hanging from Jared’s dick; there was no way he could hurt himself because there was no way he could get even _close_ to working himself off the Alpha’s knot.

“Oh fuck, you _like it_ ,” Jared said, amazed.

Dean nodded. Eagerly, and flushed. Moaned and moved, bellied down as much as he could so they were only touching _there_ , and Jared let him. Held still while Dean worked his ass in tight circles, tugged, ground himself up so hard just to relax and dangle there, and Sam—Sam was still sitting, still the idol they were all burning themselves up for, over there impassive, deciding if this offering was enough for him.

A hand on Dean’s wrist again. Jensen, guiding him back between his legs. “Please, Dean?”

Of course he would, and wanted to, but it was nearly impossible to coordinate himself like this. Got his fingers back inside the omega but a minute later was only wiggling them absently because he could feel Jared’s fucking heartbeat through that huge knot inside him. Jensen lifted one knee and slid down, trying to work Dean into him. Huffed, frustrated, when it wasn’t working. Jared fixed it for them. Dean had to do what Jared wanted, go where he moved them. Almost onto his side, balanced on one elbow and now, now Dean hurt. The angle was awful and his legs were almost closed. He whimpered, struggled, trying to ease the incredible pressure inside him but nothing worked and he collapsed, panting, but Jared had a distraction. Ran his hand up Dean’s arm where it was still stretched out to Jensen, fingertips inside the omega. Slipped his own in over Dean’s. Then back out. Caught Dean’s wrist with his thumb and pinkie and dragged him forward. Into Jensen. Both of them. Laced his fingers through Dean’s and it was easy, at first. Dean had been working Jensen open and elastic for weeks now and he took both their fingers, their cupped palms. Cursed gently at their knuckles, his own hands fluttering on his thighs like he wasn’t sure.

“Hush. We’ve got you, sweetheart,” Jared murmured, talking to Dean and Jensen both because Dean was weeping again, hurting, but he wanted Jensen to feel good, would take this discomfort because they both deserved what was happening.

Thumbs twined together, tucked, and Jensen’s head whipped back, his spine arched, legs spread wide though, heels off the bed and Dean watched, proud of his work and impressed with Jensen’s devotion and trust as he took their hands as one.

“Will you come for us, baby?”

“J-Jens— _Jensen_ —”

Jared had to do it all, and they couldn’t have done it without him anyway. It was his touch, his presence, pheromones, his existence in their lives that made it happen, that had Jensen clawing at the bedspread and bouncing his hips, stretched hole quivering around their wrists and fuck it was so obscene the way he was gaped open on them. Could have been two huge dicks up in him, but it wasn’t, was closer to—no, _bigger_ than—the knot Dean was cramping around.

“C’mon, Jen, honey, come—”

“Fuck, oh fuck, Alpha. Dean, oh—”

Jared’s hand clamped down over Dean’s, knuckles washboarding across Jensen’s prostate, primed and extra sensitive since he’d started to show, a rubbery button inside him that Dean loved to play with, but he could never do _this_ to Jensen. Make him shriek, wordless, helpless; toes curling and long nails thankfully only catching on the blankets. His orgasm made him gush from his pried open hole and from his twitching, pink little cock. He shot tears-clear fluid up his stomach and it ran in rivulets down his hips and soaked his balls, and Dean’s whole body clenched in sympathy, then his vision faded as pain was all he got for the action.

“Good boy, Jen. Perfect. That feel good, honey?”

“Y-yeah, yes, Alpha, _yes._ ” He touched them, petting where they were just outside of him, and Jared was making them move still, squeezingspreadingsqueezing Dean’s hand and Dean didn’t want to stop this, but—

“J-Jare—h-hurts, god, need to, oh—”

“Shh-shh, baby. Okay. You’re doing so good for me, though.”

Pulling, so much suction on his hand and Jensen panting like he was in labour already, then Dean was free, his hand soaked and Jared guided it to his mouth, held his head down so all he could do was lick it clean and Jensen was giggling and sighing, curled up on his side so he could watch. So he could give Sam room.

Sam kissed Dean first. Rolled him by his shoulder until he was almost on his back and kissed his pain distorted mouth. Lapped Jensen’s slick from Dean’s lips, hummed approval when Dean’s tongue flicked against his even though he was in tears again—still?

Sam didn’t use the room Jensen gave him except to lean over and kiss the omega next. Whispered lovingly to him, splayed his hand out possessively over Jensen’s stomach and his baby in there, big enough to kick hard. Instead, he pulled Jared by the hips back off the bed. Dean yelped, forced to move with them, scrambling in reverse, and Jared helped him. Got his biceps and held Dean against his chest, but then they both fell forward, Dean crushed breathless under the Alpha’s bulk. He couldn’t quite get his feet on the ground, toes just barely scraping the wooden floor. His legs were too wide, the edge of the bed digging into his upper thighs. There was a strange vibration against his back—Jared kind of _purring_ as Sam mounted him, oiled up.

“ _Fuck_. Oh fuck Sam oh my god—”

Too loud, and Dean’s couldn’t help it if he screeched. He was taking so much weight and Jared was arched to let Sam have him, forgetting that Dean was locked on his dick. Chest against Dean’s back, hips up, pulling, god he was gonna pull Dean inside out, and then Sam pistoned into Jared. Slammed him forward and Dean flailed, had to be caught and pinned down by Jared, wrists to the bed to keep Dean from scratching him.

It didn’t hurt anymore. It didn’t, but it didn’t feel good. Was just _too much_. Too full, too hard, too heavy. Felt sick, so hot and sore, and he was going to break in half when Sam put his hands on Jared’s ribs to hold himself up and the angle that shifted Jared into—Dean was going to explode, something in him was gonna pop and he was begging: “Please, please, please, fuck, _please_ —”

The void rushed up around him, blacked out his vision, all sensation and sound. Fear and, and _love_? Something like it, something sharp and perfect and terrifying—whatever it was pierced through him and his orgasm was more like bloodletting. Drained him, left him cold and quaking and wailing, numb to the fuck-fighting going on over him. Distantly heard Jared rumble, right up against his throat, and Sam warning him, “Don’t do it, don’t. You know what will happen.” But Dean couldn’t protect himself, wouldn’t be able to stop Jared, or Sam, from _anything_. Dean closed his eyes tight, the rest of himself so limp he might as well have been dead.

The next thing he was aware of was an incredible ache between his legs. He shifted automatically, trying to ease it. Fluid poured out of him and onto the towel that had been tucked under him. Dean reached down and felt the scratchy cloth, grateful to whoever had done it because nothing was gonna stop the flood of Alpha come except a plug, and maybe…

Jensen was asleep next to him, like a rose at dusk, hugging his big belly and smelling like birthday cake. There was no sign of Jared or Sam, not even the discarded cock cage Sam had placed on the nightstand by the chair. Dean slithered off the bed, taking the towel with him. Wiped himself dry as much as he could, then quietly made for the shower. Sloughed off sweat and saliva and come but no blood, surprisingly, then went right back to the bedroom, too tired to care that it was what an omega would naturally do after coming like that for his Alpha.

And it was sort of the same now, in reverse. Dean was exhausted, almost asleep already. Blinking fitfully, dragging his lids up just so he could see Jensen and Esmé. Loved to see them, happy they had it easy.

It was so nice having them to come back to after the wretched world Sam and him had to fight their way through, clean up, _survive._ Having this tranquil retreat made all the difference; to Dean and his lifelong desire to have a family, and for Sam, who needed their love and welcome more than ever because even though he denied it and Dean wanted him to be telling the truth, they both knew Sam’s Wall was itching and tender and maybe even crumbling. But here, with his son and his omega and his twin and his brother, in this calm little sanctuary, it didn’t seem to bother him as much. Didn’t have him flinching from shadows and frowning at half-remembered traumas and triggers. No one wanted for anything here. Dean didn’t even miss Cas inside these walls. _Outside_ was a different story. Outside, away from here, they were hunting the angel, in stealth mode right now, dubious of his explanations and intentions and—

Dean didn’t care. Put a finger out for Esmé to chew on. Plucked sleepily at little toes just so the baby would peddle his chubby legs in the air and blow spit bubbles. Jensen giggled, then rolled out of bed. Stretched, still soft in the middle, and the motion made his tits leak all at once and he blushed when Dean wiggled his eyebrows at him.

“You got him?” Jensen asked. Dean nodded and Jensen put a pillow on the other side of the baby just in case, then shambled out of the room. Dean let his eyes close and dozed to the sound of Esmé smacking his toothless gums and grumbling to himself. Fell asleep, or something like it, for…minutes maybe? Woke up just barely when Jensen scooped Esmé off the bed and tucked him into the crook of his arm. Dinner time probably. Dean snuggled into the bed. They’d call him if they needed him.

Or someone would come to him.

The bed dipped and Dean held his breath. Didn’t care who it was. If it was Jared, he’d be careful with Dean. Gentle. Had learned since that last-first time that Dean could only take so much so fast so hard before it didn’t feel good anymore. He could take more, but that wasn’t the point. They had discovered that being deep and still, that gentle rocking and petting and having it be one long, drawn-out peak, pleased them both. If it was Sam, well, that was something else altogether. The things they did would look like violence to each other if anyone watching didn’t know better. But that was _Sam_ and what he wanted from Dean, what Dean was so willing to give to him.

He heard a familiar sound. A tiny clink. Sam still had Jared’s key, so maybe it would be both of them, and Dean’s heart skipped, adrenaline fizzed down his spine. Sam would be as territorial as ever over Dean, would torment Jared with what Dean would let him do that Jared wasn’t allowed. Sink his teeth into Dean’s shoulder, his chest, ass and legs, anywhere Sam wanted to. Would tease Jared by putting fingers in the Alpha’s mouth, warning him against biting.

Dean got off so hard now when Sam shored up behind Jared, got inside him when Jared was knotted to Dean. It was good—not like that blacklight orgasm Dean had experienced the first time, nothing so soul-rending and deathlike. Now it was exciting and Dean even asked for it. He could take Jared’s knot without fear, so long as it wasn’t too big before Jared settled it inside him. Dean could do that with Jared, but he couldn’t fit Sam’s hand yet.

Maybe they’d both get inside him. Ass and mouth, trading until Dean was numb and coming untouched, as if his heat had trained him.  
  
Someone touched Dean, and he kept his eyes closed.

**Author's Note:**

> .  
> .  
> .  
> .  
> .  
> .  
>  For my Alpha!Jared fans out there, because I could not sleep due to the lamentations of the women. It's Theboys' fault because she tapped me one day and was like, but Silver, what if WHAT IF...get this...what if JARED DOESN'T DIE AND GOES BACK TO SAM AND JENSEN WITH DEAN. 
> 
> So here you are.


End file.
